Not As Planned
by CyborgWithGreatHair
Summary: Just another perfect day in paradise... or is it? How will Steph and co. survive this one?
1. Chapter 1

_Earlier this week I had an idea for a short story, but, working pretty much full time as I've been temporarily been promoted to Acting Assistant Coordinator, I've had barely any time for anything but sleeping. Until zee weekend. It's amazing what you can do on five extra hours of sleep._

**_Part 1_**

"No," Lester said in his best imitation of an interior designer with less interest in ladies than he had in curtains. "No, no, no, no. This just _will not do_!" He pinch his forehead and turned away with a flourish. "I can't work like this. It's atrocious. Did Cannibals set this up?"

I looked around the large conference room we'd just spent two hours decorating and couldn't see anything wrong with it. At least nothing that should worry burly men who enjoyed crawling through scrub for years. Streamers were draped rather artfully from the pendant light in the centre of the room to evenly spaced points around the room. Balloons, in groups of three, were tacked to the wall to add to the festive feel. The massive mahogany table that usually occupied the majority of the room had been removed, though I'm unsure how they could possibly have fit it through the door, and replaced with a few smaller tables I'd never seen before.

"There's nothing wrong with it," I pointed out, plucking a piece of streamer from the bottom of my shoe where it had latched on.

"Where is the ice sculpture? The mood lighting? The _glitter_!"

Ranger shook his head as he descended the step ladder for what must have been the millionth time as he adjusted the fairly lights I'd insisted he hang up. "It's just Tank, Santos. He'd be happy with a punch to the shoulder and a _welcome back."_

This was true. But having been on leave for the last three month months while he came to terms with his sudden lack of limb, I thought it would be nice to through him a welcome home party instead. Just to show that we missed him. Because we had. With him out of the building, there was no one to loom silently over you while you attempted to work. No one to boom instructions across the comm. floor when they could have easily been spoken in a whisper and heard just as well.

"At the very least, tell me you remembered to hire the quartet I suggested," Lester bemoaned, sinking dramatically into a chair.

I chuckled. He most certainly had not suggested a quartet, but everyone knew Tank enjoyed classical music. "We thought we'd just borrow Binkie's sound system," I explained, taking a seat next to him.

The sound that came out of Lester's mouth reminded me of a wounded bull. "You're killing my muse."

"Suck it up, Santos," Ranger said, the slightest smile curving the very edge of his lips as he crossed the space between us and snaked his fingers up my spine until they rested at the base of my skull, inching into the tangle of curls there. Leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head, he let me know, "We're done decorating, Bobby should be here in a minute to help Ella set up the food. Tank's due in about fifteen."

"Cutting it fine," I pointed out. It was no secret that Tank liked to be early, so when we said he was due in fifteen minutes, we really meant he'd be here any moment. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"Tank has an inability to not like things that have your mark on them," Lester drawled. "We all do. You're our kryptonite."

"Really?" Ranger said. "Making Superman references in front of Batman?" Surprised, I let out a bark of laughter. Lester, too, seemed to be struggling with controlling his reactions. "What's so funny?" Ranger asked.

"That's the first time you've referred to yourself as Batman," I pointed out.

"You're rubbing off on me," he explained. "Damaging my mental capacities for controlling my mouth."

I was glaring half-heartedly at him when the door opened to admit first a trolley full of food, and then Ella.

"Where's Bobby?" I asked, knowing he would never have let her push the trolley herself if it was that full.

"He got a phone call," Ella explained. "He's just outside." Her warm gaze travelled from me with Ranger still tangled in hair to the rest of the room and her smile grew. "It looks marvellous!" she enthused. "I'll just set these up over here in the corner."

"Lester will help," Ranger said pointedly. Giving one last gentle squeeze to my skull, he extracted his hand from my hair and headed for the door, presumably to check on Bobby. He'd barely stuck his head out into the hall, however, when Bobby's urgent voice cut through the air.

"Everly's on the move," he announced.

Not even a beat passed before Ranger's reply: "Let's roll."

I was on my feet and following the men down the stairwell before I'd even fully registered what was going on. Everly… Johnny Everly. A shudder ran down my spine as I recalled exactly who this was. He was a convicted woman abuser and rapist, but had recently turned his hands to children instead. How he'd gotten out on bail was beyond any of our reasoning, but the point was he'd skipped out and the guys had been charged with bringing his ass back in. For obvious reasons, I had not been allowed out on any of the field work for this guy. And as I burst out of the stairwell door several seconds after everyone else, I found myself swiftly taken up in my fiancée's arms.

"Stay here, Babe," he said softly. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

"I feel the same about you," I informed him solemnly. I knew he was looking out for my safety, but I suddenly had a bad feeling. "Don't go," I pleaded.

"I have to. I'll be fine."

I shook my head firmly. "Then I'm coming with you," I told him, reefing myself out of his arms and crossing to the SUV Bobby had idling.

"Babe," Ranger called after me, a warning tone in his voice. But I ignored him. My gut was telling me I had to go with them, so I had to go with them. It was as simple as that. I turned to tell him as much, but my gaze caught on the opening of the gate and the black SUV pulling into the garage. It was Tank.

"I'll ride with Tank," I suggested, suddenly desperate. Tank still wasn't fit for full active duty, but he was fit enough to be moving around finally. "We'll cover you from the street. We'll stay in the car."

"What's going on?" Tank asked, sticking his head out the window.

"Everly's on the move," I said before Ranger could instruct him to keep me here. "Ranger, Bobby and Lester are going in. We're back up."

For a split second, Tank met Ranger's eyes over my shoulder. I don't know what he saw there, or what was said through their telepathic connection, but in the next moment Tank was commanding me to jump in. The moment I was inside the vehicle, pulling on my seatbelt while Tank received directions from Ranger, the lock on the door clicked down. Tank must have hit the child lock button. Figures that'd be the only way Ranger would allow me to go on this mission.

*o*

The guys had crept inside the building fifteen minutes ago, and every passing second that they did not emerge with Johnny Everly in tow made me more nervous. I couldn't sit still, but I couldn't get out either, not unless Tank hit the door release, which we both knew would never happen. Tank was under strict, unspoken instructions to keep me safe. Allowing me out of the vehicle was violating direct orders.

"Tell me about how the wedding planning is going," Tank suggested, stretching out both arms. The empty space where his forearm and hand should have been sent a nervous flip through my stomach. Originally, the only problem he'd had was a nasty bullet wound from a stray gunshot on the job, they'd fixed him up at the hospital and sent him off to heal, but when a nasty infection set in and he continually ignored the signs, shrugging it off as the standard itch of healing, doctors were forced to amputate just below the elbow. Luckily for him, he'd already been proficient at doing things one handed from his training in the military where he was often required to hold a gun while carrying out tasks. "Have you chosen a dress yet?"

Last week I'd visited Tank to check on him after an all-day dress shopping session with my mother and brides maids – Mary Lou, Lula and Ranger's sister, Celia – I'd inadvertently complained a him for half an hour about how the women couldn't keep their opinions to themselves. Every dress I tried on had some flaw, no matter how much I liked it. It was too straight, too full, too ruffled, too plain, too much bling, not enough bling, it didn't give me enough cleavage, it gave me too much cleavage. You name it, I'd heard it.

I sighed, fishing a random receipt from the bottom of my handbag and starting to tear tiny pieces off creating confetti in my lap. "Not yet. I'm pretty sure if I ever want to make a decision I'll have to go on my own, pick a dress and wear their opinions when they finally see it. It's just impossible to please everyone."

"You shouldn't have to please them," Tank assured me. "You should find a dress that you love and wear it."

I nodded. "Finding the perfect dress is hard, though," I informed him. "I keep trying to think of what Ranger would choose for me to wear."

"Something you're comfortable in, and something that accents your long neck," Tank said at once. "If you like, I can come with you next time instead."

"That might work," I agreed. "You know Ranger better than an-."

I was cut off by a sudden loud crack. The unmistakeable sound of a gunshot nearby. As one, we turned to peer through the front windscreen as glass rained down from an above window. All the breath rushed out of my lungs, however, as I caught sight of a black clad body plummeting toward the earth. My eyes widened. I knew that body. I was well acquainted with that body.

Ranger.

His descent seemed impossibly slow, like I was watching a video frame by frame, his long ponytail whipping around, his clothes billowing upward. Body folded almost double from the force of the wind as he sped through the air. He hit the ground and I half expected his body to be torn limb from limb, like a pumpkin shattering on impact. But it didn't. An impossibly still moment passed. _Surely he would get up_, I though. But he didn't. All I could do was stare, willing him to move, twitch, inhale, something. But he didn't. He just lay on the asphalt, his limbs spread in positions I'd only ever seen on dropped rag dolls.

The strange reverie I'd slipped into was broken by Tank softly uttered, _"Fuck."_

"Ranger!" I screamed belatedly, clawing at the door latch, trying to get out. It took Tank a moment of fumbling to hit the release, and I was stumbling toward my fiancée, vision blurring and unblurring as I moved. Tank's one arm wrapped solidly around my waist drawing me back, just as I reached Ranger. "Ranger!" I implored, willing him to open his eyes and assure me he was okay as I scratched at Tanks arm.

"Slow down, Steph," Tank instructed, his voice low and calm. "Take it easy."

"LET ME GO!" I cried, somehow managing to extricate myself from the man's grasp and throw myself down on my knees, my hands fluttering helplessly over Ranger's chest and head as I assessed his injuries. There was blood pooling up from a wound in his chest and more seeping out from under his body. Too much blood. Too much red. A sob wrenched itself from my chest. Finally, I reached my fingers out and pressed them against his neck, the palm of my other hand caressing the side of his face gently. I couldn't feel anything. There was no fluttering beneath my fingertips.

"Tank," I said urgently, loudly, but he was already knelt on the other side, his one hand moving methodically from pulse point to pulse point, trying to find any sign of life. "Don't be dead," I muttered under my breath, following Tank's actions on my side. "Don't be dead," I repeated. "Don't." I pressed my ear to his chest, opposite the bullet wound, not caring that the side of my face would be covering in his blood.

"Steph he's -."

"No!" I shouted, shaking my head. "No! He's – he's not! You're not a medic you can't make that call." I took Ranger's face in both my hands, fingertips digging lightly into his hairline. "Ranger wake up," I pleaded. "Please." I leaned down once more and pressed my lips firmly to his mouth. There was no response. No air left his mouth. Nothing moved. "Ranger," I sobbed.

"Steph?"

This time it was Bobby's voice. I snapped my head up, meeting his eyes, even as I struggled to pull his face into focus. "Fix him," I demanded. "You can fix it. I know you can. You've-"

"You need to move back so I can," he said gently. Nodding, I somehow managed to remove my hands from my fiancé so Bobby could start CPR, absently wondering why Tank or I hadn't thought to do so as the sound of sirens pierced my ears.

In a matter of moments the scene was flooded by Ambulances and Police cars, both marked and unmarked, but I couldn't take my eyes off Ranger. He still hadn't shown signs of life but the paramedics had examined him and instructed Bobby to stop CPR. The next thing I knew they were drawing a sheet up over him. A strangled cry tore from my throat. I clawed frantically at the arms holding me back, but this time they would not let go. I screamed, and cried and clawed, and then suddenly, the world went black.

* * *

_I'll be back soon (hopefully) to finish the story. _


	2. Chapter 2

_I'll admit it, I actually have no idea where I was originally heading with this story when I posted it six months ago. Last night I laid out my dilemma to Shreek, along with the options I'd come up with, and she convinced me to go this way. I'm glad I did._

**Chapter 2**

**_8 Months Later_**

"Oh Steph, you shouldn't have!" the ladies exclaimed as I laid the plate of homemade muffins on the desk in the middle of the administration office, just like every other Friday. The end of the week was always hard – parents coming in with various complaints and queries, students too tired to monitor their own behaviour, weeding out real illnesses from the fake ones to see who just wants to start the weekend early - so I'd taken it upon myself to provide the much needed Friday pick-me-up. Not only did it give us that extra kick in the pants to get things done, but it gave me something to do on a Thursday night, and a chance to practice my new found baking skills. It was a win-win-win.

"That plate needs to be empty by four o'clock this afternoon," I responded jovially as I removed my coat and hung it on the back of my designated chair. "I'm not taking left overs home. I'll get fat if I have to eat them myself."

"So instead you bring them here to make _us_ fat," Veronica admonished, though the effect was lost as she nabbed the biggest cake and started peeling off the paper in order to take a bite. "Thanks. That's _just_ what I need with my sister's wedding coming up."

I laughed, shaking my head as I grabbed my own muffin. "Quit complaining," I said. "They're healthy this week." I ripped the paper off the bottom and tore it in half to reveal the plumes of purple in amongst the pale cake. "See? Blueberries."

Linda, the resident health nut, scoffed at my claim. "Adding blueberries does not make it healthy, Stephanie," she informed me.

"I could have added chocolate chips and coco powder," I countered.

"She has a point," Veronica agreed around a full mouth of muffin. "And they don't even have frosting like the cupcakes she brought in last week."

Linda huffed, grabbing the stack of files that adorned the edge of the desk and took herself off to the private sanctuary that was the finance office. I assumed it was a private office so that no one could see when she had to take her shoes off to count above ten. She was such a cow.

"Don't worry about her," Veronica said. "You watch. Right about one o'clock she'll be slinking out of that hole she's crawled into and scoffing one down. That's when her low is," she reminded me with a wink. "Ever since she stopped putting sugar in her coffee."

I glanced at Veronica curiously as I hit the button to start up my computer. "I didn't know she'd stopped putting sugar in her coffee," I mentioned.

"Neither does she," Veronica said nonchalantly, coughing a little as she attempted to swallow what must have been an overly large bite of muffin and immediately following it up with a grimace and a gulp of water. "These are really – cough – good," she added.

"I'm glad you like them," I replied, glancing down with a frown as I noticed the chunk of flour in the clinging to the side of the muffin I had chosen. They may not have been a total success, but they still tasted good. I'd come a long way since producing completely inedible rubble just five months ago, and that was something to be proud of at least.

At that moment Gregory Harbreave, the principal, practically burst into the office. A grin lit up his face as he took in the muffins. "Must be Friday!" he announced, snatching one up and taking a heft bite before anyone could even greet him. "I love Fridays," he added, leaning against the edge of the desk, his briefcase still hanging from his other hand. "Hey these are good!"

"Steph made them," Heather announced, bowing to peer pressure and finally gliding across the office on her chair and taking a muffin of her own. "She's really improved, don't you think?"

Gregory nodded, swallowing his latest mouthful. "So what do you ladies have planned tonight? Any wild lady's nights in store?"

We all tittered out a laugh. From what I knew of these ladies, we were the least likely to go out and have a wild night.

"Well," Veronica began, having nominated herself as spokeperson as she always did when Gregory was around. She'd been crushing on him for years apparently. "It's Heather's weekend with the kids, so she'll be enduring an unofficial sing-a-long version of Disney's Frozen for the bajillionth time since it came out on DVD. Linda has a date with a treadmill, or a she's doing a juice cleanse… I can't remember which it is this week. Steph is doing her weekly grocery shop as per usual. And I'm left to drink a bottle of wine all by myself while I watch Project Runway reruns." She paused for dramatic effect. "What about you?"

"The wife is throwing a dinner party, so I'll be standing in a corner with a few men I barely know, making small talk and nursing a beer, when all I really want to do is watch the Rangers game on TV."

Unbidden, a pain shot through my chest at the mention of the R word. I couldn't let my guard down for a second. These attacks of panic were less frequent now that I'd broken off from my old life, but they weren't any less severe. Abruptly, I turned to face my computer and typed in my log in, keen to get to work and forget about the fact that I pretty much felt like I was going to die because of one simple word.

*o*

As I stepped into the cool air of the supermarket I checked the shopping list I'd hastily written up before leaving work: chicken, mince, carrots, beans, cabbage – shudder – olives, bread, milk, tea, coffee, peanut butter, self-raising flour, sugar… I sighed, wracking my brain as I snatched a trolley from the bay. There was something I was forgetting. I'd felt it as I wrote the list, as I drove across town to the store, and it was still niggling at me now. Eggs? No, they were on the list as well…

Another sigh fell from my lips. It looked like I was going to have to just walk up and down every aisle, scrutinising the shelves. Again. I hated shopping like that. It was so much easier to just get what I needed and get out. No muss, no fuss.

My record for grocery shopping was twenty minutes. I'd been so proud of myself as I walked out that I'd treated myself to a box of donuts on the way home. Only to get home and realise that I'd forgotten Rex's hamster nuggets.

_Hamster nuggets?_ I checked the list. Nope, it was on there too. What was I forgetting?

I was in the cereal aisle, trying to recall how full my box of Frosted Flakes was at home when a chill came over me, accompanied by a large, man-shaped shadow.

_Oh no. No, no, no. Not again. Not now._

"Steph," the shadow greeted pleasantly, standing in the middle of the aisle so that he blocked the direction I had been heading in. "How are you?"

_Just ignore him_, I told myself firmly. _He's mistaken you for someone else. Who even is he? It doesn't matter. Forget about the Frosted Flakes. Turn your cart around and continue with your shopping._

I managed to do an about face, trolley and all, only to find myself blocked in from behind as well but a pair of old biddies gossiping, their carts lined up side by side so that there was barely enough room for a person to squeeze past, let along another trolley. Why was the world always set so strongly against me I these situations? Couldn't I be allowed a clean escape path once in a while? I glanced behind me, noting that the large man was still there and now there was a mother with her three rowdy children also blocking the aisle behind him. No way would I make it out that way.

"Steph wait," the man said, like there was anything else I could do now that I was completely fenced in. He must have seen the panic in my eyes, though. "I just –"

I didn't hang around to hear what he 'just.' Instead, hiking my purse a little higher on my shoulder, I abandoned my trolley, groceries and all, and pushed past the old ladies, careful to power walk to the nearest exit despite the strong urge I felt to run. Running would only attract supermarket security, though, and that was the last thing I needed right now. The goal here was to put as much distance between myself and Tank as possible.

All I had to do was make it my car. Past experience showed that if I got to the car, he'd let me be. He'd never actually pursued me.

The old Stephanie might have stopped to ask questions. Would have tried to figure out why he gave up so easily only to try again days or weeks later. But I wasn't that person anymore. I couldn't go back there.

My breath hitched as I realised how dangerously close I was to thinking about things I'd sworn off months ago. There was no point to it all. It was over and there was nothing anyone could do to fix it. That's why I'd moved on and that's why I couldn't go back. New Stephanie. New life. New thoughts. The past didn't matter.

_If only the past would take a hint_. I groaned inwardly as I caught sight of Hal milling around my shiny green Volkswagen. No doubt he'd just placed another tracker on it somewhere. There go my plans for the weekend. I would now be carrying out a seek and destroy mission instead.

Hal smiled shyly in greeting, obviously awkward about the whole situation, but I ignored him, focussing on retrieving my keys from my purse. I hit the button on the fob to unlock the car, hoping he'd get the hint before I actually reached the door. Apparently not. He was still stood right next to the driver side door as I reached the end of the vehicle. On a split second decision, I made my way up the passenger side and opened the door there, swiftly dumping my handbag on the floor in the foot well and beginning the awkward climb across the console to the driver's seat.

Luckily, Hal didn't get any bright ideas, about sliding in before I made it to the central locking switch. Secured in my seat, I took a moment to fix the skirt of my dress before jamming the key into the ignition, only pausing a moment to check my mirrors before reversing out of the space and speeding out of the parking lot.

Three streets later, I checked my mirrors once more, noting there was no noticeable tail. They'd let me go again. I wasn't surprised. We'd been repeating the same events for months. They were giving me the space I needed. I just wished they could leave me be entirely. Every time I saw them the pain in my chest returned and it was hard to breathe, one extra step closer to the breakdown I'd promised myself I wouldn't have. I was not some weak woman who's world fell apart because her man-

A sharp gasp stopped those thoughts in their tracks, and I decided to concentrate on steering myself toward the next supermarket. I had to get my groceries or I'd have nothing for dinner and skipping meals was not on new Stephanie's agenda. Neither was surviving solely on peanut butter, beer and take out. That would be a step backwards, and I'd made too much progress to allow that to happen.

_Thanks so much for being so patient with me this year. I honestly have no idea what's going on with my muse, but it appears she's back on the same page as me for a bit, so I'm gonna try make the best of it while I can._


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I know nothing of legal mumbo jumbo and whether what I've written in this chapter is even feasible. If it is, great. If not, pretend it is. I just wrote what sounded kinda right to me. And Shreek gave it approval, so I can cast blame at her as well._

**Chapter 3**

Tank's POV

Bobby's head jerked up from the monitor he sat behind the moment the elevator doors opened. The look of pure worry and concern on his face was so familiar these days that I thought it was permanently etched into his features. He was taking Steph's reactions worse most, given his medical background, and I couldn't blame him. I'd seen enough loss, and enough people go through the grieving process to know that this was not normal. She'd moved on with her life too quickly. Unfortunately, she wasn't confiding in anyone, so we couldn't help her out with her troubles.

"Well?" he asked as Hal and I stepped onto the command floor.

"Nothing," I replied.

"What do you mean nothing?" Lester piped up from his cubicle nearby, sticking his head out to view us more directly. Probably, he'd watched our progress through town on the GPS tracker and then followed us through the seven security cameras we'd passed since entering the underground parking garage.

I shook my head, trying to find words to explain while still processing the events at the supermarket myself. If it weren't for the fact that she'd glanced back at me and then abandoned her shopping cart, I would have believed she hadn't seen or heard me. But she had. I knew she had. And this was a troubling development. I'd trailed her at a much slower pace than I would have liked, having to push past the elderly ladies that had positioned themselves to block off the entire aisle with their trolleys.

The disgruntled gossiping that followed me out of the store was a small price to pay for keeping Stephanie in view as she crossed parking lot to her definitely-not-a-piece-of-shit car where Hal was waiting. I'd thought for sure he'd be the one who was able to get through to her. She'd spent more time with him in the beginning of her involvement with Rangeman with anyone else.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to participate, too. He always tread lightly where Steph was concerned, since she'd injured him more often than anyone else who was put on babysitting duty. But he was the least intimidating, so it was worth a shot. Sending Hal in was the equivalent of setting a newly born lamb in the middle of a battlefield in the hopes that the enemy would have enough heart to cease fire until it managed to get across.

Unfortunately, Hal's introverted nature had wielded nothing different than my straight up approach inside. I'd stared dumbstruck as Stephanie circled around to the passenger side of her vehicle and scrabbled inside, across the passenger seat before settling and driving off.

Something must have spooked her to have had such an adverse reaction to our presence. Just last week she'd been able to maintain a short conversation with Cal outside Donut King before she looked hurriedly at her watch and excused herself. Now she wouldn't even acknowledge our presence.

"I mean, nothing happened," I eventually said.

"Nothing except Stephanie averting her eyes and taking a detour through the passenger side door rather than actually talk to either of us," Hal added, finding his voice for the first time since we'd piled into the SUV to come back, our mission a complete failure.

"Wait what?"

"She wouldn't even talk to you?"

I looked from Lester to Bobby. This was not a conversation to have in the middle of the command floor. Any information pertaining Stephanie had always been a distraction, right from the very start when Lester, Bobby and I came back from that redecorating job to tell tales of the woman the boss had set his sights on. Recently, though, it was not only a distraction, but a worry. We'd already said enough in front of the men that they would sit at their stations worrying over her actions. There was no point in giving them more fuel for the fire.

"My office," I said simply, jerking my head in the general direction of the office I'd always occupied. It was far enough away from the rest of the men that there was no risk of anyone overhearing unless we were yelling our conversation. Plus the only reason anyone would go down that way anymore was to locate me, since the only other thing down there was Ranger's office, which was practically abandoned since Steph wouldn't take it.

We were at a loss as to what to do about that.

Ranger had stated in his will, in no uncertain terms, that in the event of his death, his share of the company went to Steph. And since his was the majority share, that made her owner of Rangeman LLC. Steph didn't take that news very well. She seemed to think that his share of the company should have been divided between Bobby, Lester and myself, since we would be the ones running the joint in Ranger's sudden, permanent absence. In fact, she'd gone to great lengths to transfer ownership to us, going so far as to speak with Ranger's lawyers and fill out the requisite forms.

Unbeknownst to her, though, we'd also had a chat with the lawyers, and while we'd allowed her to think that the deal was done. The property was still under her ownership. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, so long as we kept the business up and running.

The other problem was that Ranger owned exclusive rights to the name Rangeman. Which meant that we needed to change the company name. And hadn't that gone down like a tonne of bricks. Not just Stephanie, but every single one of the Rangeman employees had violently protested the concept of Rangeman not being Rangeman anymore. No amount of placating from the lawyers had done any good.

_"__It'll still be Rangeman at heart,"_ the lawyers had assured us. _"You'll just be calling it by another name."_

And sure, our mission statement and values were the same, but without Ranger – and now Stephanie – it didn't even feel like Rangeman at heart. Rangeman was more than what we did. It was how we worked together to make the world safer. It was a real community project that had always been driven by Ranger. When Ranger died, we'd instinctively started looking to Steph as our driving force, our reason to keep going, but she wasn't in right headspace. And rightly so, her fiancé had just died.

We were doing our best to move on as RCM Security, but there was only so much you could do without a heart. I was afraid, that one day we were just going to stop beating and that would be the end of it. No more Rangeman, even in spirit. We would have failed Ranger. I couldn't let that happen. Which meant we needed to get to the bottom of whatever had gotten to Stephanie ASAP. If we got her back – even if we only managed to regain speaking terms with her – it would be a great help in keeping the company going.

I settled in my desk chair, instinctively reaching to scratch an itch in my right forearm – the one that was no longer there – as the others all stood around, or plonked into the visitors chairs on the other side of the table. It seemed we were gathering like this – sombre faces and less than stellar news – more and more often as time went by.

"So explain what happened today?" Bobby asked, getting straight down to business as always.

I sighed, shaking my head yet again. "I approached her in the supermarket like we planned. She was contemplating the cereal. I greeted her. No response. Called her name. Nothing. Asked how she was. Nada. The only tip off I had that she'd even heard me was the way her whole body tensed, like she was readying for some kind of impacted. She just turned her trolley around and tried to leave me behind. When she couldn't get her trolley through the small gap left by some old ladies, she left the trolley behind as well and just kept walking, out of the store."

"So what you're saying," Lester said, his tone letting me know that he was about to attempt to lighten the mood. "Is that you single-handedly scared her away?" His joke was met with complete silence for a moment and he must have thought that we didn't get it, because he followed it up with a wiggle of his own right hand. "Get it?" he asked. "Single-handedly? One hand? It's an amputee joke."

We all groaned.

"You can't tell me it's too soon to joke about it," he said defensively, you were joking about it while there was still blood on your bandages."

"How long have you been waiting to use that one?" I asked him, rather than validate his right to joke about my missing half a limb.

"A few weeks," he admitted. "It came to me in the shower."

"Right," Hal said, standing up a little straighter. He'd clearly received enough of Lester's overshares over the years to know that staying on the topic of showers was not a good idea. "Back to Stephanie. Tank didn't single-handedly scare her away. My presence at her car didn't help either."

Cal whistled low. "She even shunned the lamb," he murmured, awestruck. "I never thought she'd be able to say no to his big brown eyes."

Hal scoffed. "You seem to forget that she abandoned these big brown eyes in the Pine Barrens with the Jersey Devil," he reminded Cal. "The only one she could never say no to was Ranger. Without him, we have no guarantee of reeling her back in."

"We'll just have to keep working at it, then," I announced. "Redouble our efforts."

"Aren't you worried that's gonna drive her further out of reach?" Lester pointed out.

"I have a plan," I replied coolly. It was a complete and utter lie. I was at a loss as much as the rest of them, but if we didn't have Ranger's confidence to rely on, and Steph was missing in action, someone had to keep spirits above the red zone. I never thought of myself as the Pep Rally kind of guy - and I would have punched anyone who even suggested it – but I was learning that a lot my job post-Ranger relied on my ability to urge the others on. I may not have a plan now, but I'd come up with one soon enough.

It was imperative that we didn't lose hope.

"Alright," Lester said, a challenge in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest – show off. "Let's hear it."

"It's more of an idea at the moment," I conceded.

"You don't have a plan," Lester accused. _Well, there went that notion._

"We'll give her a couple of days," Bobby surprised me by speaking up. "Maybe she's just having an off day. She'll be back to normal soon."

That sounded like denial to me, but I was more than happy to accept it. It allowed more time to formulate a real plan without the men breathing down my necks.

Lester slumped in his seat, looking dejected. "I suppose we should get back to making sure TankMan is running smoothly in the meantime?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow in my direction. No matter how many times we reminded him that company was now RCM Security, he insisted on calling it Tankman behind closed doors. He was convinced that the _Name-Man _combination was a winning formula, hence why all his suggestions had been presented in that format: _TankMan, PlumMan, BabeMan. _At least they were slightly more acceptable than his original suggestion of naming the company after our affectionate nickname for Stephanie. _BombshellMan, BomberMan, BombMan _and even _Bomber Aid_ just didn't have the right connotations to it. It wouldn't have held up in focus group testing.

"Yes," I agreed. "RCM Security needs be business as usual."

"I'll see what kind of insights I can glean from our informant," Cal suggested, straightening from the wall he leant against with a glance at his watch. "I'll be sure to call first thing if I learn anything."

I nodded, silently dismissing him. Cal hadn't actually informed us who his informant was, or how he had connections to anyone in Steph's new world, but we were gaining access to little snippets of her daily life beyond what we could deduce from our continued 24/7 surveillance, so no one was complaining.

"I'm gonna do another dig into Steph's medical files," Bobby announced. "I wanna try find out if she's getting any kind of professional help."

"Doubtful with the way she's been acting," Lester muttered. "What kind of professional would condone turning away from everyone who loves her in a situation like this?"

An idea popped into my head at his words. A new approach we hadn't tried yet. "I have a plan," I stated confidently. "Everyone leave. I need to do some research and I don't need your remarks about how when I type my hand looks like a spastic spider dancing on the keyboard."

_Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed so far. Even those who reviewed just to tell me that they would not be reading any further because they were 'sick of the fit of despair that fanfiction had fallen into' (paraphrased) or couldn't handle the depressing nature of this particular story. Whatever. To each their own. If you're still with me, that's awesome. But if you're not, that's your choice._


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter took longer than I intended, because my sister and her family are staying with us at the moment. At one stage, I pulled out my laptop to write and I immediately had three elementary school children around me asking all sorts of questions about what I'm writing, how I can write so much and where I post it etc. I was half expecting them to ask me to read it to them... _

**Chapter 4**

Steph's POV

It's amazing how therapeutic the simple act of scrubbing the bathroom from top to bottom on a Saturday afternoon has become in the last eight months. While the old Stephanie never would have dreamt of getting down on her hands and knees with a toothbrush to scrub at the grout around the base of the toilet, but the new Stephanie revelled in the shining result. There's nothing quite like the renewed white of a previously dirty spot on the floor.

And the satisfaction isn't just limited to the bathroom. Last week I'd spent three hours reorganising the kitchen cupboards. I still wasn't sure if I preferred my non-perishables sorted alphabetically, or by category, but I was at least giving them both a shot. And if neither of them worked, I could always browse the internet for new ideas.

The internet had become my new best friend. It taught me how to fix my leaky sink a month ago, and how to sew the button back on my skirt when it fell off. It taught me how to cook basic foods I'd never had any interest in mastering when Mom was trying to impart her vast knowledge. Then it assisted me in finding new recipes to try once I'd mastered those vital first steps. And more recently, it was teaching me how to sew. It was a uniquely frustrating task and I spent more time unpicking my mistakes and wondering why and how I managed to get a tuck in the seam when I'd followed every step exactly, than actually sewing. The sense of achievement that swept over me when I finally finished the cushion covers to match the drapes I'd bought made it all worthwhile, though.

So what if the cushions were a bit wonky? I made them from scratch, and that makes them far more valuable than any store bought cushion could have been.

I was stood on the edge of the bathtub, on tip toes and over extending in order to reach a black spot in the corner that had developed since I'd last given the room a thorough cleaning, Van Halen blasting from the sound system in the living room when a buzzing sound distracted me. For a moment, I thought a bug had made its way into the house, despite the screens Daddy had helped me install on all the windows a couple of weeks after I moved in, but when I turned around to look for it, it was obvious that the noise came from my cell phone vibrating against the laminate of the vanity counter. I had a phone call.

Dread rushed through me in an instant and I found myself almost toppling into the tub. Quickly stepping down from the ledge, I ran through the options of who it could possibly be: Daddy checking up on me, Mom insisting I come to dinner, the Merry Men pestering me once again. Daddy, I could deal with, that was no problem at all, but even dinner with Mom was a preferable to enduring the presence of the Merry Men at the moment. I'm sure they meant well, but they clearly couldn't take a hint. I was trying to move on, make something of my life, find success. They didn't need me anymore. Hell, they never really needed me. They just had a professional obligation to protect me and include me because of their boss. The boss that was no more. Which meant they were now carrying out a dead man's orders.

Just the thought of trying to pretend everything was hunky dory with Tank or Bobby made me sick to the stomach.

By the time I'd made back to stable ground and delicately removed my heavy duty rubber gloves, the phone had stopped ringing. A soft exhalation left my lips, but I wasn't sure if it was relief or annoyance. Maybe a mixture of both. On the one hand, I now no longer had to put myself through the torture of human conversation. On the other hand, I'd taken the effort to climb down from the tub to answer the phone and now had to climb back up in order to remove the spot that was still there. I stared at the phone for a moment, wondering how likely it was that the caller would ring again, but unwilling to check the missed call history to see who it was.

My eyes were drawn, once again, to the blasted spot on the wall and I immediately made up my mind. Is stuck the phone in my back pocket just in case, re-donned my gloves, picked up the scrubbing brush and hopped back up on the side of the tub. Two strokes in and my ass was vibrating.

Just my luck.

Awkwardly leaning against the wall with my left elbow, I attempted to maintain my grip on the brush while removing the glove from my right hand in order to grab out the phone once more. Several wobbly seconds later I was staring at the caller ID in surprise, but not as much apprehension as I had anticipated.

"Mare?" I greeted, hitting the button to accept the call. I hadn't seen or heard from her in a few weeks.

"I need to get out of here," she announced, dumping me straight in the deep end as was her custom. "I'm going crazy. So far today Ethan has bitten Darius three times. Keilan has done nothing but sit on the couch and watch cartoons. Right now, all three of them are arguing over whether Optimus Prime could beat Spiderman in a fight. Two of them are almost in tears. Lenny will be home from the hardware store in ten minutes. I intend on being out the door the moment he steps in."

"Okay," I said slowly, a little overwhelmed with the depth of information she'd just thrown at me. I was out of practice.

"I'll be at yours in half an hour," she added. "We'll take your car from there."

"Sure," I agreed, wondering if the bleach fumes were getting to me, or if Mary Lou was talking faster than normal. "Where are we going?"

Mary Lou's voice was muffled, but I could hear her yelling something about technology and a lizard. I wasn't sure of the connection and didn't have enough time to fully contemplate it before she was back on the line. "I don't care, so long as there's not a Play Station, a play park, or an oversized costume head in the general area. And if someone so much as mentions chicken nuggets, we are out of there."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. "See you soon."

"And don't wear one of those floral dresses again. They make me sick."

She hung up before I could defend me fashion choices and I was left balancing in one of the most awkward positions I'd ever been in. I glanced up at my still gloved hand with its dangling glove and scrubbing brush. _At least I'm not naked and handcuffed._ The thought filtered through my consciousness before I had a chance to squash it down. That night of embarrassment had, in the long run, led to so much more, and that so much more had ended in where I am now. No way could I think of what happened in between then and now.

Realising that I had a little less than half an hour to find an outfit in my wardrobe that was decent enough to leave the house in but did not contain floral – a near impossible feat these days – I quickly dropped the cleaning equipment and tucked the phone back into my pocket before hopping down. Apparently, I had somehow managed to spill some water or cleaning fluid on the floor. The unfortunate part was that I found this out only _after_ leaping from the side of the tub. The moment of realisation came as my feet made contact with the wet slippery surface and promptly slid from under me. In the next second, I was flat on my back with pain radiating through my butt and skull.

Groaning, I slowly levered myself off the floor with the help of the vanity edge of the tub and the vanity and hobbled my way down the hall to my bedroom. There was no time to wallow in self-pity. Mary Lou had expectations, and I had a best-friend obligation to fulfil them to the best of my ability.

Half an hour later, I was sitting on a bag of frozen peas in my kitchen, wearing a pair of Tiffany blue jeans and a navy blue blouse with tiny white stars all over, my hair tucked up into a pony tail in an attempt to hide the fact that parts of it were still damp from my splash landing. The sunlight streaming through the window behind me was warm on the back of my neck, but the process of shifting out of its rays and causing the pain bloom in my ass again was too much to even contemplate. The next time I moved would be to answer the door when Mary Lou arrived.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang eliciting another groan from my tortured body as I managed to straighten into an upright position for the trek to the front door.

"Girl, you have _aged_," Mare greeted as I opened the door, one hand braced on my lower back as I cringed. "Life in the school system does not become you. What's with this posture? Has your cushy desk job crippled you?"

"Nice to see you too," I deadpanned, wincing as I bent to collect my purse from beside the door. "Just let me lock up and we can be on our way. You can continue your critique in the car."

I saw her shaking her head as I punched in the code to arm the alarm system and locked the front door. "I'm just saying," she said, "That's it's kinda ironic that you work with those rough and tumble men, being thrown about, pushed around and shot at for years and you were fine, then a couple of months in a safe secure work environment and you're hobbling around worse than your grandmother. How does that even happen?"

"If you must know," I sighed, hitting the button on my key fob to unlock the bug. "I slipped and fell in the bathroom and landed on my ass."

"Shower gymnastics?" Mary Lou asked excitedly, sliding into the passenger side. "Who's your partner?"

I felt my cheeks heating up of their own accord. There was no reason to be embarrassed, I hadn't been up to anything more than cleaning my bathroom, and besides which, Mary Lou and I had been exchanging intimate details since we were fifteen. Perhaps it was the fact that I was so long out of practice on both the doing and the sharing.

"Don't _tell_ me it was one of those scrumptious men in black types you used to work with," she continued in my silence. I couldn't even look at her as I started the car up. Naturally, she took my reaction as confirmation. "It _is_, isn't it?" she asked excitedly, practically jumping up and down in her seat. "You have to dish. Which one? The massive black one? The slightly smaller black one? The one with the crooked nose? The one with the forehead tattoo? The shy one? The cowboy? The Mexican? The one that looks like Antonio Banderes?" I swear she was picking up her questioning habits from her kids. She never used to be this rapid.

"None of them," I said faintly, backing out of the driveway.

"Which one then?" she demanded, exasperated.

I shook my head firmly. "None," I repeated. "I wasn't with any of them. I was alone in the bathroom."

She was turned in her seat to stare at me aghast. "What kind of positions do you get up to on your own in the bathroom?" she asked, eyebrows drawn in close.

"It's not like that," I told her, pausing at a stop sign and glancing over to her. "I was cleaning." She looked like she was going to make another suggestive comment, so I quickly explained. "I was up on the tub cleaning the wall and when I hopped down I slipped in some water or something that I'd spilt."

"Right," she said, but she didn't sound like she believed me. "I suppose it's hard to catch that kind of man when you dress like a fifties housewife most of the time."

"Whatever," I said, starting to get annoyed with her line of conversation. She of all people was aware of how much I loved Ranger and how devastated I was when he died. How she thought I could move on from that so easily was a mystery to me. But as least she wasn't talking to me like some fragile flower, prone to breaking at the slightest upset. "Where do you wanna go?"

She grinned. "Europe."

I rolled my eyes at her, but managed a bit of a smile. "I can't _drive_ us to Europe, Mare," I reminded her.

"Well than take me to the airport."

"Seriously?"

"I'd settle for a restaurant without a kid's menu," she admitted. "How about Amici Milano?"

My chest constricted at the mention of the restaurant Ranger had taken me on our first official date, but I ignored it as best I could as I looked at the car clock. "It's only three fifteen," I pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure Amici Milano have a kid's menu."

"I wouldn't know," she informed me. "I've never been there."

"We'll probably need a reservation as well," I mentioned, hoping against hope that if I could make it too difficult, she'd just drop the idea. Shopping I could handle. Dinner at a mile stone restaurant, not so much.

"Okay, then," she agreed, whipping out her phone. It looked at least three years old and there was a ghastly crack across half the screen. "I'll call up and see if they have a table for us, you steer us in the direction of the mall. We'll do mini makeovers before dinner."

_Thanks again for your support and feedback. Hopefully I can get another chapter or two out before Christmas. But I've also been thinking of doing a Christmas Songfic... to what song, I don't know. Suggestions welcome._


	5. Chapter 5

_My house guest (all two car loads of them) went home this morning. And after they left I sat straight down at my laptop and started typing this chapter. Start to finish. Four hours later and I'm ready to post with or without Shreek's tick of approval._

**Chapter 5**

Cal's POV

Mary Lou certainly had a no holds barred approach to handling Stephanie. While the rest of us were tip toeing around, trying not to push her over the edge and into a black pit of despair, Mary Lou waltzed straight in, made some demands and practically dragged Steph out of the house. This was not what I had expected from Steph's best friend when we asked her to give us a hand.

Tank's brilliant idea, since she wouldn't even acknowledge out presence anymore, was to see if her friends beyond the company could get through to her. The idea was to get Steph out of the house and doing normal things that she would have probably done before Ranger's death and see if they could show her that it was okay to continue the same life without him. It would take some adjustments, no doubt, but she didn't need to completely discard everything she'd gained since becoming involved with Ranger just because he was gone.

She'd assured us, when she announced her intentions of moving out of the building just five weeks after the funeral, that she wasn't not trying to run away from the memory of Ranger, or the support we were attempting to provide her in his absence. And we'd believed her, for as long as she kept working with us, which was only another couple of weeks after she moved out. Everyone at Rangeman was shocked by this occurrence, since we weren't even aware that she was looking for other employment. Not to mention the fact that she'd chosen something as mundane as school administration.

It was the oddest thing, seeing her voluntarily walking around in girly dresses and having her hair all tied up and neat. And those coloured shoes… I didn't understand. I mean, sure, she'd worn coloured shoes before. Usually for distractions though. And usually with massive spike heels that defied logic. These shoes that she had taken to wearing were flats. Like… something you would put on a five year old.

Every time I saw her it was like she'd lost a little more of her spunk, which ate at me more and more as time went by. At first, I'd thought Tank had sent her on an undercover mission of some kind. That explained the dresses, the shoes, the house, the job. But when Tank announced his worry at her actions, I knew for sure something was wrong.

Along with all the changes she'd made in her life, she refused to talk about Ranger. At all. One mention of her late fiancé and she would shut down, or change subjects, or abruptly announce that she had to go. It was hard to let her go when she got like that, but Bobby informed us that she needed space to grieve and come to terms with her loss. Eventually, we learned to not mention Ranger in her presence if we wanted her to stick around a little longer. We tried to keep conversations light, focusing on funny anecdotes from the jobs we'd run lately, or stupid things Lester had come out with in her absence. But after a while, even that wasn't keeping her around.

Her daily visits went down to weekly visits. And then she skipped a week. And another. She was away more than she was here. But at least she would answer our calls if we phoned. She wouldn't anymore. Not after what happened with Hank… The others tried to play it off like it was just an extension of her ever decreasing contact with us, but I was convinced there was a direct correlation between the two events. I mean, it was the last phone call she accepted from any of us.

Bobby had been on the phone to her in the control room when a call came in at the main monitor desk that things had turned sour at a job some guys were at and Hank had been shot. Naturally, seeing that Bobby was just there, they'd shouted the news across the room to him as Bobby was the one who would need to consult with the medical professionals treating him at some point to ensure the correct duty of care was maintained. Unfortunately for us all, though, Stephanie heard as well and freaked the hell out. She demanded to know all the details before abruptly hanging up, and reportedly heading straight over to St. Francis where Hank was being taken. We'd all been shocked by her reaction – she'd never been like that all the other times any of us got shot – until Hal reminded us that the last time one of us got shot, her fiancé died. It made sense, then.

God only knows what happened to make her completely stop acknowledging our existence. As far as I was aware no one else had been injured recently.

I guess that's why Tank decided to bring Mary Lou and the others into the mission to make sure Steph got the help she needed. It was all well and good to move on with your life after such a great loss, but she'd done so too quickly and too absolutely. She'd left behind all of Ranger's things along with anything that was hers which may have Ranger's memory imprinted on it. It was all still sitting upstairs in the seventh floor apartment, waiting for the day we could convince her to come back to us. Waiting for her to learn that forgetting Ranger, and by extension, the rest of us, was not only impossible, but also not recommended.

Late last night we'd gathered in Tank's office once more so that he could lay out the plan he'd devised. It was better than attempting to corner and talk to her in a public place and risk being seen by onlookers as terrorists or whatever, but I wasn't exactly sure what Tank was hoping to get from this. Never the less, we'd called all Steph's friends and even her family, to arrange a meeting the very next day – this morning. Everyone in the room agreed that Steph needed help. It wasn't natural for her to avoid everyone so completely.

According to Mrs. Plum, not even the promise of her favourite homemade treats had managed to lure her in over the past month.

I was ashamed that we'd let it get this bad with her. We knew what she'd been through and was still going through and yet we'd just let her extricate herself from our lives. Myself and the other former Rangemen – we still had yet to come up with a suitable term to call our collective now that the company name had been changed – had the excuse of trying to make sure the business kept running at its usual high standard. Which included keeping clients happy and making sure paperwork was up to date, along with informing said clients of the change of management following the boss's death. But even that seemed lame in the face of the tragedy that was Steph's life at current.

It well past time to set things right. And Mary Lou had volunteered to be first cab off the rank, explaining that a call out of the blue, if she played the stressed out mother card, would fly under the radar. Apparently, she and Steph had fallen into a pattern of sorts over the last few years as their lives had split in different directions. We'd agreed immediately, and proceeded to fit her for audio and video surveillance.

The hidden cameras we'd decided to use were stylishly disguised as diamond earrings. One the original designs Hector and Hank had come up with when we first started using Steph for distractions. We'd never actually used this particular pair, though, so the chances of Steph's suspicions being raised were rather slim. Unless she caught sight of the mic in Mary Lou's bra. Here's hoping we didn't have to cross that bridge.

For now, it was my job to monitor said audio and visual for any peculiar reactions. So far, everything I'd seen was a peculiar reaction, especially compared to the old Steph we'd grown to love. At least she wasn't wearing one of those dresses. Mary Lou had made sure of that in her rather hectic phone call. I hadn't been on monitoring duty at that point in time but according to Hank, while Mary Lou was making arrangements to meet up with Steph, her sons had been dunking a live lizard in the fish tank. If that hadn't convinced us she was the right person for the job, I don't know what could have. She was clearly equipped to deal with chaotic situations from a life time of being friends with Steph.

I didn't have the same rapid recognition of expression that Zero had, but when Mary Lou had implied that Steph was having relations with someone, a jolt of anger had crossed her features. It had happened again when she'd suggested that it was one of us, this time followed by grief. I'd wanted to slap Mary Lou upside the head at that point and remind her that Steph had just lost the love of her life, no way would she have moved on in that sense so soon. But alas, the comms we had on her were only one way.

We'd attempted to fit her with an earwig as well, so we could offer assistance or insights if needed, but she'd flat out refused, saying that if we wanted her to do this, it would be on her terms, none of this coaxing her through it, like she didn't know how to interact with her best friend.

I really wish we'd put a little more effort into convincing her, though, because she kept turning her head away so that we did not have a visual on Steph. If she'd accepted the earwig, I could have just reminded her to keep the cameras on Steph. And stop scratching her ear. I swear, if I had a weaker stomach, I'd have gotten sea sick from the movement it had caused in the image before me.

They'd made it an hour into their shopping trip, and were browsing through the lingerie section on Mary Lou's insistence – according to the explanation she'd given, the key to feeling better about yourself was to put on some barely their lace underwear, no one else could see it, but it did wonders for the self-esteem – when I'd let out gasp in tandem with the woman who's head my visual was attached to.

Mary Lou had turned to show Steph a set that was little more than a scrap of lace and some ribbon when we'd clearly both caught sight of the hair at the back of Steph's head. Whereas it used to all be a lovely chestnut colour, now there were streaks of blonde and orange through her curly pony tail. I was no hair dresser, but I was pretty sure that was not a professional job. Had Steph decided to attempt a self-dye at home?

"What happened to your hair?" Mary Lou asked, forgetting about the lingerie and reaching out to caress the odd strands.

"What do you mean?" Steph responded, looking over her shoulder in an attempt to see what her friend was referring to. A look of confusion clouded her features. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's got blond and orange streaks," she pointed out, lifting a section of hair and pulling it around so that Steph could see. "It's the worst dye job I've ever seen."

"What?!" Steph cried, grasping at the strands Mary Lou presented to her. She was clearly panicking. "I haven't dyed my hair," she explained. "What the hell is going on here?"

A moment of silence passed as Mary Lou deftly removed the elastic from Steph's hair and smoothed it down as much as anyone could such a curly tornado. Whereas, when it was all tied up, it looked like badly done streaks, when the hair was down, it was clear that it was just one patch at the back of her head that had been dyed. Not even from root to tip. Just mid lengths. Steph was keeping up a steady stream of expletives as Mary Lou examined the hair.

"You were cleaning the bathroom when you slipped, right?" Mary Lou finally asked, cutting off Steph's ranting. "Were you using bleach? Did your head make contact with the liquid you slipped in?"

A horrible groan escaped Steph's mouth as she pulled a section of hair from the back of her head to glare at it. "I just assumed it was water," she told Mary Lou. "Why does this kind of thing always happen to me? I've had more substances through my hair than a toxic waste disposal plant."

"At least it isn't Kung Pow Chicken this time," Mary Lou had pointed out helpfully.

Steph shook her head. "At least if it was food I would have smelled it before venturing into public. What am I gonna do?"

"What we always do when there's a hair emergency," Mary Lou announced confidently. "Go see Alexander."

"I don't think he wants to see me anymore,"Steph frowned, jerkily tying her hair back up in an attempt to hide the awful sight as they made their way back through Macy's toward the mall proper. "Last time I went to him after a hair disaster he looked like he was having a heart attack. He holds me personally responsible for his heart condition."

"Well he can just suck it up," Mary Lou offered. "I am not having my best friend walking around looking like a horror movie."

Suddenly, Steph wasn't in sight any more. It took Mary Lou a moment to realise that she wasn't there before she stopped walking and turned around. Steph stood stock still a couple of paces back, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Does it really look that bad?" she asked.

The next thing I knew, the visual was crowded by a mass curly brown hair as Mary Lou wrapped her arms around Steph. "Of course not, sweetheart," she assured her over the sniffling coming from nearby the mic. "It's barely noticeable when you've got it up in that bun. Hey, calm down. Let's get you to Alexander. He'll know what to do."

"I just really thought these disasters were behind me, you know?" Steph mentioned, her voice rather thick as she lifted her head and I got a close up of her left nostril.

"At least nothing exploded this time," Mary Lou pointed out. I'm pretty sure she'd meant it as a joke, or a consolation, but the flood of tears in invoked from Stephanie made it clear that explosions were no joking matter. I could only imagine what kind of memories were running through Steph's head with that one little reminder. And I'd thought Steph's response to the mention of Amici Melano – which we all knew was sacred ground – was bad. Mary Lou certainly had a talent for sticking her foot in it.

My chest ached, listening to the soft sobs escape Stephanie's throat. I'd seen her cry more times this year more times than I could handle, and none of them were happy tears. I just hoped this new plan would succeed in allowing us back into her life so we didn't have to endure her pain from a distance. Sure, she'd still feel pain now and then, it was only natural, but if we were there we could help her through it, rather than just watching from afar and feeling worse ourselves because we know that there is no way she would accept our offer of comfort in her current state of mind. This distance was killing us.

_I am keeping METICULOUS notes on this story, let me tell you. Usually, I have ideas and just kinda keep them in my head and hope that they stay there long enough to be implemented. This time around EVERYTHING is getting written down. I'm up to like four and half pages of notes. It's insane..._


	6. Chapter 6

_Merry Christmas Everyone! I'm posting this at almost 5pm Christmas Day, having just endured a brutal game of Marvel Monopoly (one of my presents). My brother won by a landslide. _

**Chapter 6**

Steph's POV

I stared at the menu unseeingly for the longest time. I'd noted the prices down the right hand side of the page and without warning, my mind had conjured up the memory of the first time I'd come here. With Ranger. We'd been skirting around each other for years, stealing kisses and touches and even the occasional night together, but when Joseph Morelli, my life long excuse for not settling down in an official, committed relationship with anyone, had rented out his house and moved out town for a job, things had changed.

_Not even a week had past and Ranger was at my door in charcoal grey slacks and a black silk shirt open at the neck, asking me to accompany him dinner. I'd immediately thought this was just about the job prospects he'd mentioned a few days earlier when I'd bemoaned my lack of luck in the skip tracing world, so when he insisted that I dress nice for the occasion I was a little confused. Never one to turn down an opportunity to dress up though – just ask my mother about the third grade – I'd quickly slipped into a little black dress I'd been dying to test out and met him in my kitchen once more where I managed to strap my feet into the spike heeled sandals I'd bought three years ago on impulse but had never actually worn._

_Ranger gave me a nod of approval and offered me his arm to lead me down the hall to the elevator – thank God he hadn't suggested the stairs – and out to his Porsche. I'd asked him about a million questions on the short drive to the restaurant, including whether this was a classified distraction job that he couldn't actually give me details on, but needed my presence in order for his plan to work. On three separate occasions. He just smiled that annoying half smile and gave the slightest shake of the head I'd ever seen. I'm almost inclined to believe I'd imagined it._

_We arrived at Amici Milano and Ranger was out of the car and at my door before I had a chance to undo my seatbelt. Dumbfounded by this display of chivalry, I'd silently allowed him to help me from the car and into the restaurant where we were promptly ushered straight through to our table. Apparently, the wait staff had been expecting him, because there was a bottle of wine reading for the pouring and menus on the table. I'd taken on look at the prices on the page and nearly died. I couldn't afford this kind of food. I wasn't even sure I liked expensive food._

_"__I can't afford this," I squeaked out, once the waiter had poured our wine and disappeared. "It's too expensive."_

_"__Babe," he said. "This is a date. The man pays on a date."_

_My eyes practically bugged out of my head at that statement. This was a date? Why was I just learning this now? Furthermore, why hadn't the thought crossed my mind while we were in the car? "Sure," I agreed, trying to hide how freaked out I was by the news that I was on a date with Batman. "If you're from the nineteen fifties, but this is 2014. Women don't just go around allowing men to pay for them. What happened to equal rights?"_

_"__Babe," he said again, this time not adding anything to it so that I was left trying to figure out what he meant by that one word._

_"__Why didn't you tell me this was a date?" I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest like a petulant child. Unfortunately, the action caused the bodice of my dress to slip down and little and he was treated to a brief view of the see-through lace bra I'd donned before wriggling into the dress. His eyes were immediately drawn down and his half smile from earlier bloomed into a 200 watt wolf grin. I could only imagine the things he was thinking in that moment before I corrected my clothes and his head snapped back up to my face._

_"__Would you have answered differently if I'd said the word date in my request?" he asked, rather than give me an answer._

_Would I? It's hard to know, since I was already enclosed in the dim lights of the posh restaurant with Ranger staring straight into my eyes. "Maybe," I hedged. "I certainly would have thought about it a little longer."_

_For the third time, he repeated his pet name for me. "Babe."_

_Yeah, we both knew I would have said yes. Hell, I would have agreed to go on a Bonnie and Clyde type adventure with him if he'd turned up in that suit he was wearing and asked. And I suppose on some level I must have known it was a date, right? _

_We stared at each other for a long moment while I wondered what it would be like to go through with this date he'd sprung on me. Would it lead to more dates? A committed relationship? Would Ranger actually open up a little?_

_"__Okay," I eventually agreed._

_"__Okay?" he questioned, clearly having left his ESP brain at home today._

_"__Okay, I'll go on a date with you," I explained, only slightly exasperated._

_"__Good," he said, and held out his hand across the table. "Hand me your menu."_

_I thought for a moment that he was going to just order for me, which wasn't going to happen. I'd end up with horrible salad which chickpeas or something if I let that go ahead. When I made no move to hand over the menu, he removed it easily from my hands and set it on the table. As I watched, he folded the right edge of the page over to hide the price list and handed it back to me._

_"__You can't do that," I gasped out, my eyes wide as I quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. My hands frantically working to smooth out the page. I didn't get far in my task, however, before he'd snatched the menu back and ripped it straight down the fold line he'd just created. "Ranger!"_

_"__Relax, Babe," he soothed, one hand on mine on the table as he handed a passing waiter the price list he'd just removed. "It's fine. The menu costs ten bucks at most."_

"I can't afford this," Mary Lou announced, snapping me back to the present as she hastily shut the black folder the menu came in. I smiled lightly, the sensation foreign on my face. I was out of practice. As I set my own menu on the table I thought about my bank account and the untouched funds I'd inherited after Ranger died. I could afford this if I wanted to. Hell, I could afford a small plane if I wanted it.

Just as Ranger had done for me almost two years ago, I held my hand out across the table to my best friend. "Pass me your menu," I requested. She did so without hesitation and I spared her a quick glance before deftly folding the edge of the menu over and using the line it created to guide my tear. Before she could protest, I handed her the menu. "My treat," I informed her. Ranger would have approved of my generosity.

The waiter gave me a knowing smile when I handed him the torn bit of paper and I had to wonder how often their menus were torn up.

"Steph," Mary Lou started in her I'm-about-to-protest voice. I shook my head firmly, giving her my best don't-mess-with-me look and she amended whatever she was about to say to, "Thanks."

"My pleasure," I replied.

We kept the conversation light throughout dinner, sticking to her family and burg gossip. One of the things I loved about Mare was that she seemed to understand my needs. More specifically that I did not, in fact, need everyone to ask how I was handling life every time I saw them. Sure, it was a simple "How are you?" and sure, people tend to ask that of people immediately after a greeting, but it was the way they asked. The look on their faces. The tone of their voice. They already knew I wasn't coping well.

With Mare, however, we had an unspoken pact to never ask how the other was. If there was something that needed to be talked about, chances are one of us would blurt it out at some point. And if we didn't, we took the silence to mean that the other person was either not ready to talk about it, or not willing to talk about it. Which is why when she folded her hands on the table once our desserts had been consumed and we were nursing the most expensive coffee I had ever seen and asked what she asked I got a little frustrated.

"So how are you handling life, you know, after?" I just stared at her. "Steph, it's been eight months. Have you talked to _anyone?"_ More staring. "Steph," she sighed. "Sweeping the whole thing under the rug isn't going to do you any good in the long run. Ranger wouldn't have wanted you to live your life like this."

"Like what?" I demanded, though in my head I was thinking she was the last person to tell me what Ranger would have wanted. She didn't even know the man. She'd met him a handful of times and spoken to him for no more than ten minutes collectively. "I'm doing the best I can."

"You're shutting out your family," she pointed out. "And your friends."

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my chair. "I'm spent the afternoon with you," I pointed out.

She mirrored my position, meeting my eyes with a cold stare I knew all too well. She wasn't going to let the topic go. "You've been an absolute mope for the better portion of it," she countered. "Even before we discovered your bleach mishap. It was like I dragging Darius through the lingerie department, not my best friend. I know you're going through a tough time, but I miss you."

"I miss you too," I sighed. And it was true. I missed her so much it ached. I missed how easy it used to be between us. Between me and everyone, really. It was like I wasn't the same person without Ranger. No one treated me the same as they used to, not even Mare. I inhaled slowly and deeply to keep from breaking down as I realised that I'd thought about Ranger more today than I had in weeks.

I couldn't even begin to contemplate how I felt about that. I worked so hard at pushing him from my mind that when he did come to mind it hurt all the more, because I was laden with the guilt that came from acknowledging that I was not doing his memory the justice it deserved.

"Hey," Mary Lou uttered, raising from her seat and coming around the table to wrap her arms around my shoulders. "I'm just worried about you. We all are."

Surprisingly, I managed to keep the tears locked up inside as I hugged her back. "I'm just trying to find where I'm supposed to be in life without him," I said.

"Where you're supposed to be is with the people who love you," she informed me. "I don't know how you ever plan on moving forward with your life and finding happiness if you're not gonna let us help a little."

"What do you what me to do?" I asked, dropping my arms to allow her to return to her seat.

It took a while for her to answer. She was casting her gaze around the restaurant as if the answer might be written on the wall or something when the mood lighting caught on her earrings. They were really cute. I told her so.

Her hand went up to caress the stones in the front like she'd forgotten she was wearing them. "Thanks," she said, a genuine smile blooming on her face. "Do you wanna borrow them? I bet they'd go great with those horrible fifties dresses you wear now." She started taking them out of her ears and placing them on my side of the table before I'd even had a chance to reply. "Why do you wear them anyway?" Clearly we were back to the brash Mare I'd learned to love back in first grade. She could get away with saying anything. It was amazing.

"I needed a new look to go with my new job," I shrugged, gulping down the last of my very expensive, very cold coffee. "Are they really that bad?"

"Yeah," she assured me. "They're that bad. Almost as bad as this coffee. How much are you paying for this? My poor mouth cannot assimilate it's expensive taste."

I glanced under the table at her ballet flats. "How much did you pay for your shoes?" I countered.

Confused, she followed my gaze, thought for a moment and replied, "Like, ten bucks in the supermarket."

"It's about the same," I replied coolly, inadvertently thinking back to my first date with Ranger and how he'd insisted on ordering two desserts when I couldn't make up my mind between them, despite the fact that he had no intentions of consuming any of it.

Shaking my head, and sticking Mare's earrings in my ears, I signalled for the cheque just as Ranger had that evening. When the waiter came over though, he did not hand over the little folder like he should have, instead clasping my hand and looking directly into my eyes.

"Thank you for dining with us," he said, lowering his head to press his lips to my hand. "We heard about your Mr. Manoso and as a token of a gratitude toward his patronage over the years, and in acknowledgement of his obvious love for your, we would like to cover the cost of your meal this evening."

"What?" Mary Lou uttered.

"What?" I repeated.

"Your meal has already been paid for," he explained.

"But…"

Mary Lou was on her feet before I could finish my protest. "Awesome," she said, holding her hand out to the waiter. "Thanks so much. Tell your manager that we are eternally grateful. Come on, Steph." She practically dragged me out of my chair and out to the car. I wasn't thrilled with accepting the charity, but Mary Lou was revelling in the free meal. Apparently nothing like that happened when you had three destructive boys in tow. More often than not, she ended up paying extra for the damages caused.

When I pulled into my driveway and we hopped out of the car, she wrapped her arms firmly around me, squeezing hard the way she always had. "Promise me you'll stop pushing everyone away," she requested.

"How do you suppose I do that?" I asked.

She shrugged, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder as we made our way over to her beat up mini van. "Next time someone invites you to dinner, say yes."

_Thanks everyone for sticking with this story so far. If you haven't already, you should go over and check out my Christmas Songfic "Who Spiked the Eggnog?" Also, let me know if you want me to do more songfics. I enjoy writing them, do you enjoy reading them?_


	7. Chapter 7

_I knew what this chapter was going to contain before I'd even started writing the previous chapter, and I'd like to take this opportunity to issue a tissue and/or chocolate warning._

**Chapter 7**

Bobby's POV

I sat in the large conference room waiting for Tank to arrive so that they morning meeting could begin, thinking about donuts. Not because I was craving the sweet confection, or because I was hungry or any of the other reasons normal people think about donuts, but because my thoughts were stuck on Steph. The situation that we'd allowed to develop in the last eight months was stressing everyone out. When I was stressed, I read medical text books and ran on the treadmill, When Tank was stressed he beat the shit out of anyone who was stupid enough to step onto the mats with him. When Lester was stressed he made jokes – not that there was any difference there. When Steph was stressed, though, she ate donuts. That's why I was thinking about them now. We'd been monitoring her activity non-stop and as far as I was aware, she'd only bought three dozen donuts since Ranger's death.

That was concerning. Three dozen donuts was only just enough for one a day for a month. That left a theoretical seven months of no donuts. Recalling the security footage from the time she'd been challenged to go off sweets, it was a wonder she hadn't gone on a rampage through the men of Trenton. I guess her grief over Ranger balanced out the "Jelly Donut" hormone theory, however that worked.

I glanced around the room, trying to distract myself from thoughts of Steph, because thinking about her and how she was hurting and wouldn't let any of us close enough to help or comfort her was giving me digestion problems. Lester was across the table doodling on a legal pad, no doubt there would be a picture of oversized boobs somewhere on the page, as was his custom. Beside him, Hal was staring blankly at the table top. God only knows where his mind was. Hank, Cal and Hector were at the other end of the room, fiddling with laptops, projectors and screens while conversing in rapid fire Spanish.

My Spanish was remedial at best, but there was no mistaking the occasional use of the name _Estefania. _I was curious as to what they were talking about, but figured, given the equipment they were setting up, that I would find out at some point during the meeting anyway, so I didn't worry too much about it for now. I only hoped that Cal or Hank would be the ones to do the explanation. Nothing against Hector, but we had a definite language barrier. We could communicate just enough for me do to a basic diagnosis, or for him to figure out my technical difficulty.

Before I could get too far in planning my return to language learning, the door burst open and Tank tromped in, dumping his laptop bag on the table and plonking down into the chair at the head of the table.

Lester and I shared a glance across the table. I hadn't seen Tank is this kind of mood since the day his physical therapist suggested he step back from field work. He'd chosen not to obey the PT's every wish, and still went out on the occasional bust, but on the whole, he did spend a lot more time in the building, since he was almost solely responsible for the day to day running of the company.

"What's wrong, big guy?" Lester asked, laying down his pen and leaning elbows on the table.

Tank rubbed his hand over dark stubble that covered his head. He'd been letting his hair grow a little between shaving it, presumably because of how much more difficult it was to reach certain parts of his head now that he had one less hand. "Tired," he replied, reverting to one word answers.

"You didn't sleep well?" Lester surmised.

"I didn't sleep at all," he corrected, using his stump to hold the laptop bag in place while he pulled the device from within. "Hank called me as I was preparing to leave the office and insisted I take a look at the footage of Steph that the earring cams were picking up."

"You got distracted watching things from Steph's point of view and forgot to go home?" Lester guessed.

"Worse," he said, setting something up on his laptop, and I thought he mumbled something about screams.

"What was that?" I asked, leaning a little closer. He abruptly stood from his chair, signalling the beginning of the meeting, though and I was left wondering over what screams he could have been referring to. Steph clearly wasn't in any danger or we would have been called in the middle of the night, rather than waiting for the morning brief.

"Cal," Tank barked, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. "You're starting." And with that, he sat back down, and lowered his head to his hand, elbow resting on the table for support.

With a short nod of the head, Cal hit a few buttons on his laptop and the projector came to life, casting an image of Steph and Mary Lou from a few years ago onto the screen at the back of the room. Underneath the picture were the words _Operation Stephanie. Phase Two: Friends and Family. Subject One: Mary Lou Stankovic-Molnar._

"Wait a second," Lester interrupted, before Cal could even begin. "I thought we were calling it Operation Bombshell."

"The outline you received clearly states it's Operation Stephanie, Santos," Tank growled. "Pipe down." A moment of silence carried through the room as everyone caught on to just how irritable the big guy was this morning. After everyone had gulped down a little bit of fear, Tank made an impatient gesture toward Cal and the screen. "Get on with it."

"Right," Cal said. "So yesterday we started the family and friends phase of our attempt to get Steph to open up, get help, come back to us, etc. We started with Mary Lou Molnar, Steph's best friend. The results were… interesting." He clicked a button on the laptop and the image changed to one of Stephanie holding her lower back with one hand, and the door with the other, a look of partially masked pain on her face. "She was clearly in physical pain, but Mary Lou greeted her with an insult. From Steph's reaction, I'd like to assume it's not uncommon?"

The men around the table murmured agreement. We'd each witnessed interactions between Steph and her female friends from time to time and an insult greeting was not out of the ordinary. It was no wonder her self-esteem was so low.

"So then she turned to lock up, and we got a view of her security system." A blurred picture a wall panel popped up on the screen. "It's an imperfect view," Cal explained, "But with Hector and Hank's help, we were able to enhance the image –," an enhanced version popped up beside the original, "And determine that it belongs to Hogar Home Security, whom we have worked alongside in the past. While their services are nowhere near the standards of Rangeman… I mean RCM Security… given the differing nature of the clientele, it's a relief to see that she does indeed have a security system, and it's one that we at least respect."

Another murmur of agreement travelled around the table and I made a note on my tablet to suggest someone get in contact with Hogar Home Security and see if we could struck up some kind of deal to share a bit of information.

Cal continued to give as a play by play of the afternoon and evening, highlighting some of the emotions the Earring Cams had captured and theorising over how she was coping in a day to day sense, given the evidence. I was surprised that Steph had accepted Mary Lou's advice so easily, when we'd been trying to get her to be more open to interactions for the last few months, but I guess that was the power of the best friend. I certainly accepted advice better from Lester than I did Binkie.

Cal, with Tank's approval, then handed over to Hank who started with a wide yawn, and I realised there were dark circles under his eyes. Clearly he hadn't slept the night before either. Was his insomnia also related to the screams Tank had mentioned?

"Like Cal said," he began, dragging Cal's laptop toward himself and tapping some keys. The screen went blank for a moment as he gave his introduction. "Mary Lou gave Steph the Earring Cams. They kept recording all night and are still recording now, but she's not wearing them, so we'll check back on that later. For now, I'd like to draw your attention nine thirty last night."

He brought a video excerpt and hit play. The image was dark, the only illumination coming from what was probably a nightlight in the en suite bathroom, at a guess. I could just make out a lump on the bed that I could only assumed was Stephanie's sleeping form. We were all silent, examining the footage as she rolled over onto her back, one arm making its way out from under the covers. Hank was still tapping keys on the laptop and suddenly we were subjected to static.

"The sound is pretty bad," Hank apologised, pausing the video and glancing over to Hector. "Earring Cams do have an audio function, but they were ultimately designed to be paired with a proper surveillance microphone like the one we fitted Mary Lou with yesterday before sending her out. Unfortunately, there's no way Mary Lou could have transferred the mic as well, so we'll have to make do with what we've got. I think you'll find it more than sufficient in a few minutes."

With that, he hit play again and we all endured the static while squinting the screen, trying to make out details. After a couple of minutes of watching Steph move about in her sleep I was pretty sure I could hear soft moans amongst the static. I listened carefully, straining to hear details in the wall of sound. Another minute or so passed. Steph's movements became more agitated. The moaning continued, and I thought I heard the word no in there somewhere. It came again. Definitely no.

She was practically thrashing about on the bed now, her moans and nos reaching an almost fever pitch. That's when it happened. The screams. It sounded like someone was trying to murder her, but I could tell from the image before me that it was untrue. I'd never heard such a blood curdling sound in all my life. It was only a moment later that I realised that statement was untrue. Her scream changed from the high pitched, wordless wail to a name we all knew too well. Ranger. That was the most horrible, heart breaking sound I'd ever heard, and I knew immediately that nothing could top it. I'd heard mothers crying over their dead children in third world war zones and it didn't even come close to this.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that these were the screams that had kept Tank up all night. If any one of us slept tonight or at all in the next year with those sounds trapped inside our heads, I'd be surprised. It was pure torture.

After another couple of minutes, as Steph's cries began to die down, Hank hit stop and sat back in his chair with a tense expression in his face. A quick glance around the table showed identical expressions on all the guys. These were the demons we feared the most; the ones that existed in the mind, that couldn't be fought with brute force or fire power. And the fact that it was Stephanie who was suffering just made things worse. We'd sworn years ago to protect her at all costs, no matter what happened between her and Ranger. But this was just ridiculous. None of us could save her from the pain that caused her screams any more than we could save her from the pain that had dulled her sparkle in the last eight months.

"She had two more episodes like that before finally falling into a fitful sleep," Hank explained softly.

"She needs professional help," I stated adamantly, making furious notes on my tablet to get in contact with all the psychiatrists I knew. "She can't continue like this."

"How are we supposed to convince her to get help if she won't even acknowledge our existence?" Lester responded, his usual light mood completely drained. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

I thought about it for a good long moment, but failed to come up with a decent plan. Eventually, it was Tank who was the voice of reason. "She didn't protest when Mary Lou told her to accept the next dinner invitation she got," he pointed out. "Maybe that's our way in."

I furrowed my brow. "You're going to invite her to dinner so that you can try to convince her to see a psychiatrist?" I questioned. It sounded even worse an idea when I said it out loud than when I thought it in my head. "She's not going to appreciate that."

"No," Tank said, rubbing his hand over his head again. "That's not what I was thinking. We need to get her friends to convince her she needs to get help," he explained. "She's more likely to listen to them."

"So who's our next subject?" Hal asked, speaking up for the first time all meeting.

"Subjects," Tank corrected. "Plural. Helen and Frank Plum are coming in in a couple of hours for a tech fitting. They're inviting Stephanie to traditional Sunday night family dinner. They've also agreed to allow us to bug their house."

"If anyone has the authority to be concerned for Steph's mental state, it's her parents," I acknowledged with a nod of the head. "I'll get in contact with a few psychiatrist buddies and see what I can work out. I'll have a list of contacts to you by the time Mr and Mrs Plum arrive."

_Thanks as always for reading, and an extra big thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. Your insights are sometimes very surprising, pointing out things that I honestly hadn't thought of._


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter ended up a little longer than intended, but I'm sure I won't hear any complaints about that. Once again, you may need chocolate at some point during this chapter. I myself got a little depressed while writing parts of it. And now, while you're all reading this chapter, I'll get back to reading the new book I bought yesterday that I've been waiting forever for._

**Chapter 8**

Steph's POV

I sat in my car at the curb in front of my parent's house, breathing deep and trying to muster the courage to exit my vehicle and enter the volatile environment that was Sunday Night Family Dinner. Why did I promise Mary Lou I'd accept the next dinner offer I received? I should have known this would happen. My mother had a habit of metaphorically kicking me when I was down. I could only imagine what kind of reaction I would get from her today. I'd been dodging dinner for three months now. My only saving grace, as far as I could tell, was that I hadn't blown up a car or rolled in garbage lately. Nine months to be exact.

I was just puzzling over the fact that my mother's maternal instincts had, for once, not drawn her to the storm door prior to my arrival, when the door burst open and two small bodies were running across the small front lawn toward me. My nieces, sent to to my mother's dirty work, no doubt. Angie and Mary Alice both had great big smiles on their faces as they stopped at the gate, obviously following strict instructions to come out and greet me, but not leave the safety of the yard. Like some mad axe murderer was going to swoop in and kidnap them in the four feet between the mailbox and my car.

Shaking my head to remove such morbid thoughts from my mind, I snatched up my purse and the plate of red velvet cupcakes from the passenger seat, and made my way over to my nieces.

"Hi Aunt Steph," they both enthused, throwing the gate open and allowing me to get a total of one and a half steps inside the yard before they wrapped their arms around my middle, squeezing hard. It only lasted a moment, but I had to concentrate not to allow the slight burning sensation behind my eyes to turn into tears. Their unconditional love in the face of all the turmoil that was the rest of my life, was touching. I'd missed them.

"Can I take that for you?" Angie asked as they broke away and started leading me toward the door. She was always the prim and proper one, reminding me a hell of a lot of my sister.

"Look!" Mary Alice exclaimed, holding up a small, pink, fluffy pony. "I got Pinkie Pie!" She was more like me, except whereas I wasn't overly fussed on horses and ponies, she thought she was a horse. At her age, I'd been more inclined to think I was a superhero.

"That's cool," I encouraged the younger girl, simultaneously handing the plate to her older sister. "It's very pink. I can see why you named it that."

Mary Alice rolled her eyes, a trait that all Plum women are born with. "Pinkie Pie is the name it came with," she explained. "It's from My Little Pony."

I nodded my understanding. "I see," I said, feigning interest. "Is Pinkie Pie your favourite?"

She shook her head as she bounded up the steps before me. "No, my favourite is Rainbow Dash, but they didn't have her at the toy store."

"What about you, Angie?" I asked as I pulled the door open for both girls to enter. "Did you get something from the toy store as well?"

"I got a new book," she countered. "It's about the apocalypse."

"As is every other book you've read lately," Mom pointed out, sticking her head out of kitchen at the sound of our voices. "Stephanie! You're here! I was starting to worry you weren't going to show."

Simultaneously, we looked to the clock on the wall. It was still only five to six. I was early. I pointed this out. She didn't reply, instead averted her attention to Angie and the plate she was holding.

"What's this?" she asked, taking the plate from the child to examine it.

"Aunt Steph brought cupcakes," Angie explained.

"They look pretty," Mary Alice added helpfully.

Mom looked from the cupcakes to me and back a few times, trying to reconcile the Stephanie she'd raised – the one who had a unique ability to frustrate and anger her, and who grew up to explode cars and roll in garbage – with this new Stephanie that brought a plate of cupcakes to dinner. Finally, she turned back to the kitchen, taking the plate with her, and called over her shoulder, "You didn't have to buy something to bring, Stephanie. You know that."

I pushed the girls toward the living room with the promise that I would be there soon, and followed my mother into the heart of her home. By the time I'd entered, she had the cupcakes stowed in the fridge and was bustling about by the stove. "I didn't buy them, Mom," I told her, taking a seat at the counter. "I made them." And just in case she thought I meant I'd bought one of those box mixes she despised, I added, "From scratch."

My mother's movements stilled, but she didn't turn around to face me, just continued holding the wooden spoon over the pot of vegetables. Steam was rising around her and I recalled when I was five and I thought of her as a witch, stirring her potions. After a long moment, I figured she wasn't going to say anything, and if it was, it would be the same callous remarks she'd always awarded me with, so I hopped off my stool and came around her side of the bench.

"I've been learning to cook," I explained.

"You've… what?" The disbelief was clear in her voice. Obviously, she'd resigned herself long ago to the fact that I would never learn to cook or clean. That I would never settle down and marry. A lump formed in my throat at that thought. I_ was_ going to get married, but then tragedy struck and wiped those plans from the table. "Why?" she asked suddenly, turning to face me at last.

"Because I realised that I can't subsist on peanut butter and olives alone," I shrugged. "And I needed a new hobby after I decided that rolling in garbage wasn't as fun as it used to be."

"Thank God for that," Mom muttered, beginning to transfer the side dishes from pots to serving dishes. "Speaking of which," she added, setting a bowl of mashed potatoes on the counter next to the gravy boat. "When was the last time you went to church?"

I made a face, partly because I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd been to Sunday Service, but mostly because I could distinctly remember the last time I'd set foot inside a church. The most painful day of my life. The day I'd said goodbye to my fiancé. I knew she was asking about a Sunday Service, but I couldn't help thinking about Ranger and how the last time I'd laid eyes on him was at that church in Newark. He'd looked as peaceful as he always had when he was sleeping, except I knew he wasn't. It was hard to forget, what with all that white satin surrounding him.

As always happened, when I thought about Ranger lying still as death in that casket, I recalled the moment the shiny black coffin was lowered into the ground. My knees had given out, and had it not been for Tank and Bobby's arms, I would have fallen to the dirt. Mother Nature didn't have the decency to make it rain so that the weather matched my emotional state. Instead, the sun beat down from a cloudless sky, heating my simple black dress as I tossed a single red rose into the grave and stumbled back to the men that had supported my weight.

Realising too late that I was allowing myself to think of him and as a result had tears streaming down my face as I stared blankly at the serving spoons Mom had just laid on the counter, I swiped the back of my hand across my cheeks and grabbed the potatoes. "I'll take these to the table," I said, my voice gluggy from tears.

I did as I said, placing the bowl in its usual spot before retreating swiftly back into the hall. I'd intended on making my way to the bathroom to calm down and splash some water on my face, but the universe had other plans. Valerie and Albert were in the hall as well, blocking my path.

Valerie took one look at my face and handed Lisa off to her husband before dragging me into the bathroom and locking the door behind us. She sat me down on the closed toilet seat and started running water in the sink while she grabbed a wash cloth from the cupboard behind the door.

"What did she say?" she asked, wringing out the cloth. I thought she would just hand it to me, but instead, she knelt down in front of me and started wiping the soft, damp material across my face.

"Nothing," I said, cringing at how pathetic that one word sounded. Val gave me a look like she didn't believe me, which she probably didn't. She never really did, probably because I lied so much as a child. I sighed, taking the wash cloth from her hands and pressing it to my eyes so that I didn't have to look at the concern on her face. "She just asked me when the last time I went to church was."

"And she started berating you like she always does," she guessed and I could sense her moving around the small space again. After a moment, she took the cloth from my face and swapped it for a cooler, damper one.

"No," I said, holding the new cloth to my face and pressing lightly in on my eyes. "I started thinking about it and then my thoughts turned to-." I cut myself off with a shake of my head. If I started talking about it, I would start thinking about it again and then I'd never get my emotions under control. "Things," I finished, my shoulders slumping.

"Ranger," Valerie guessed, perching on the side of the tub beside me. "It must be hard."

Taking a deep breath, I lowered the cloth from my face and met her gaze. I'd expected the sad sympathy that had been the standard expression bestowed upon me after Ranger's death, but instead I found her face contemplative as she stared down at the tiles.

"I know it's nowhere near the same thing," she started, "But I was devastated after I divorced Asshole." Asshole was what we called her first husband, Angie and Mary Alice's father. She'd caught him canoodling with the babysitter and promptly dropped him, taking the girls and returning to Trenton. "You know what helped?"

"Tequila?" I guessed, morosely. I was over people trying to tell me how to feel better and move on with my life.

"Bourbon, actually," she corrected with a slight smile. "Have you thought about becoming a professional alcoholic?"

I screwed up my nose at her. I'd never been known for being able to hold my liquor and couldn't see myself making a career from drinking. "What's the pay like?" I asked.

She mirrored my expression, and took the cloth from my hand, tossing it into the sink. "See, that's the problem. It doesn't. And it actually costs a lot… unless you're pretty and drinking at a bar and all the horny men buy you drinks. I'm not pretty enough, though." She considered this for a moment, then stared at me. "You might be. But not with the red eyes and shiny nose."

"Gee thanks," I muttered, shaking my head. This was the most sisterly moment we'd shared since I'd puked on her slippers while trying to hide the fact that I was hung over from Mom and Dad Christmas Day when I was seventeen. "Why do our sisterly moments always revolve around alcohol?" I asked her.

We thought about this for a moment, and I knew we were on the same page when she met my eyes and we both uttered one word. "Mom." It was a well-known fact that when Mom was stressed, she drank. It didn't matter what time of day it was. I had vague memories of her pouring whisky into a coffee mug when I was twelve. Probably, she thought no one was watching, since she didn't even try to hide the bottle.

"Stephanie!" Mom's voice carried through the house as easily as it had when I was fourteen and hiding from her. "Valerie! Dinner's ready. Hurry up or it will be ruined."

"Just a second!" Valerie called back, rolling her eyes. "You have to do some damage control on your face," she informed me. "We've removed all traces of make up with the wash cloth and you look horrible." She picked up the wash cloth from the sink again and dabbed it under my eyes. "I thought these circles were mascara, but they're not coming off," she muttered under her breath. "No matter," she countered herself, standing and pulling open the draw of the vanity. "Let's see what magic we can work with Mom's mediocre make up."

I let out a slight laugh. "Mom's Mediocre Make-up," I repeated, thinking how there was probably definitely a word to describe a sentence where every – or at least most – words started with the same letter.

Not surprisingly, Valerie was a step ahead of me, and provided me with the word – alliteration. She'd always been a know it all.

Five minutes later, Valerie was satisfied that we'd done all we could to save my face, and I'd swiped on five extra coats of Mom's inferior mascara before head back down the hall to where everyone was waiting around the table for us to start dinner. We took out usual places, me right next to Dad, Val right next to Mom. Across from me, Grandma Mazur was clicking her dentures as she looked at me, like she wanted to say something but couldn't make her teeth line up so she could.

Mom indicated that we could start loading our plates, and everyone instinctively began passing the plates toward Dad's end of the table. The sooner he had the plate-to-mouth fork action going, the better. Especially with Grandma Mazur sitting right there; Dad had a low tolerance for all things Grandma related.

We all ate silently for a few minutes and I was just marvelling over how I had resisted the allure of my mother's cooking for so long when, Dad spoke up, startling all of us, I'm sure.

"How's your new job, Pumpkin?" he asked, pouring more gravy over his roast beef. "Are you enjoying it?"

I glanced around the table, making sure that everyone else had heard the question, and I wasn't just imagining things. The wide gazes I was met with confirmed my suspicions. I was not going crazy. Dad had just interrupted his rapid digestion of food to ask about my job.

"Uh, it's okay," I shrugged. "I've had worse." Like the time I'd been determined to quit Bounty Hunting and had destroyed a number of businesses around Trenton in the process of testing out different occupations.

Dad nodded, and returned to scooping food into his mouth, he'd satisfied his curiosity, and used up his allotted out-loud words for the evening, apparently.

It was Mom who continued the conversation. "Do you get to talk to the children very much?" she asked.

I thought about it for a moment. "Not overly," I said, mashing my peas through my mashed potatoes. "Mostly only when their teachers need something. Or when they're sick. I deal with a lot of stomach and head aches," I explained.

"So you're kind of like the school nurse?" Grandma Mazur questioned, a mouth full of half chewed beans. "Do you get to wear a hot nurse uniform?"

I shook my head, but couldn't help but smile. Trust Grandma to think of a hot nurse uniform. "No, Grandma," I told her. "I'm not a nurse. I don't wear a uniform. I'm an administrative assistant. I spend half the day plugging absences into a computer. The other half I spend filing, calling parents and administering puke buckets and ice packs."

"Huh," Grandma huffed, swigging some of her wine. "Boring."

I knew she would think it was boring. She thought everything that didn't involve high speed care chases, or gun fire was boring. She'd thrived on the stories of my Bounty Huntering mishaps. That, and drooling over the men that surrounded me. The amount of times she'd tried to grope them was astounding. Apparently her antics were so bad that Ranger had started handing out hazard pay to anyone who was unfortunate enough to have to come with me to my parent's house.

"At least tell me there's hot male teachers to perv on," Grandma implored.

"Mother!" Mom admonished.

At the same time Angie groaned, "Gross." I knew exactly how she felt. I'd been putting up with such inappropriate comments for years. Angie was only now starting to understand exactly how inappropriate Grandma Mazur could be, God bless her. She had so many more embarrassing moments to come.

The rest of dinner passed amicably. No one berated me about being antisocial for months on end, or not going to church. We stuck to safe, non-confrontational topics. It was almost like I'd descended into an alternate reality where my family wasn't the most dysfunctional thing I'd ever encountered. Who knew we could behave like this? I certainly didn't. I kept expecting my mother to have an outburst of frustration directed entirely at me at any moment. But it didn't happen. And then we were clearing the dinner plates and bringing out the dessert dishes.

She'd made Pineapple Upside Down cake, just like she'd promised she would on the phone this morning, but she also brought out the cupcakes I'd made and set them in the centre of the table. Everyone eyed the cakes suspiciously, knowing full and well that Mom was not one to make individual sized cakes. When no one moved to take anything I let out a sigh.

"I made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing," I told them all, leaning across Mary Alice to cut myself a large chunk of Pineapple Upside Down cake. "I know they're not as good as anything Mom could make, so I won't be offended if you don't trying them." Although, as I forked in my first mouthful of cake, I acknowledged that I desperately wanted my mother's approval of them, or I wouldn't have brought them. Mom cooked for people. It was what she did. So bringing a plate of food to family dinner was almost like stepping on her toes. Probably, I'd offended her simply by entering the house with them.

But she was the one who'd put them on the table, so perhaps there was hope.

I was on my fourth mouthful when Mom slowly reach over and delicately picked up one of the small cakes, setting it on her plate gently before beginning the process of removing the paper from the sides. I couldn't bear to watch her reaction, so as she began lifting it to her mouth to take a bite, I averted my attention to dragging the cake plate toward Dad so that he could himself a slice.

"Mmm," I heard my mother murmur at the other end of the table. "Oh, it's red!" The surprise in her voice, forced me to return my gaze to her. She was chewing thoughtfully, staring down at the cake in her hand. "What did you say this icing was?" she asked, glancing at me over top of the cupcake as she took another bite.

"Cream cheese," I said, my voice smaller than I thought possible. Was that approval? She hadn't spit it out. And she'd taken another bite. That was positive, right?

"Mmm," she repeated, nodding her head. "The cake is a bit dry, but there's plenty of icing to make up for it." She took another bite. "Where did you find the recipe?"

My eyes widened. The cake was dry. A small criticism. But she liked the icing. And she was practically devouring the rest of the cupcake. "YouTube," I told her. "I like YouTube because I can see exactly what the batter is supposed to look like so I know whether I'm doing it right."

"The things you can learn on the internet these days," Grandma mused, drawing my attention to the fact that she too had taken a cupcake and was in the process of eating it. "The other day I saw these girls doing amazing tricks with ping pong balls, shooting them from their – "

"Mother!" Mom exclaimed. "I told you never to mention that again in this house!"

"Shooting them from their whats?" Mary Alice piped up, munching on a cupcake also.

"Their mouths," Valerie said quickly. "They were shooting them from their mouths."

I chuckled a little at the hasty reply and glanced around the table to see Dad's reaction to the topic, thinking it was strange that he wasn't muttering about killing Grandma. Turns out he was too busy licking cream cheese icing off his fingers to comment. My heart swelled as he gave me look, reaching for another cupcake. That was the ultimate approval. I'd been so worried about what Mom would say about my cooking attempts that I hadn't even acknowledged how much it meant to me to have Dad like it as well. And I could tell he did. Dad doesn't eat things he doesn't like, that's why Mom no longer served cauliflower.

Blinking my eyes rapidly to keep the tears at bay – I'd already cried once tonight, I didn't want to repeat the performance – I sniffed a little and shoved another bit of cake into my mouth. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected my family to be this supportive. It was like at some point during the last three months I'd been avoiding them, they'd realised how much I didn't appreciate their constant criticism and flicked a switch on their attitudes.

Now if only the Merry Men could do the same and leave me to move on with my life in peace.

_Don't forget, your feedback is always welcome and appreciated._


	9. Chapter 9

_It took an agonisingly long time to get inside Lester's head for this chapter, and he still hasn't revealed all his motivations... Hopefully it all works out..._

**Chapter 9**

Lester's POV

Tank had given direct orders for all Tankman employees to steer clear of Steph until further notice so as not to ruin Phase two of Operation Bombshell… Operation _Stephanie_… whatever… He had reiterated his stance after we witnessed Steph's screaming nightmare on Earring Cam - because he knew that everyone around that table wanted to drop everything to go and comfort her - and once again after we watched the highlights of the Plum Dinner.

It had been so hard to sit there and watch Stephanie break down because of her mother's thoughtless questioning, and when she'd disappeared to parts unknown with her sister, I'd literally wanted to spring into action and go save her. Why didn't we assume that Valerie would be there too? Why didn't we race in and mic her the moment she turned up? It's not like she had any objections to the situation her parents explained when she walked in the door half an early for dinner. And clearly she took her role as big sister seriously for once, because Steph seemed much calmer when they eventually emerged at the dinner table. What I wouldn't give to find out what had been said behind closed doors.

The first surprise of the evening was when they eventually sat down to dinner. There was a bunch of plate shuffling while everyone served themselves and then a few minutes of silent fork to mouth action. And then, shocking everyone, including the people around the dinner table and those in the conference room watching, Frank Plum lifted his head and asked his youngest daughter about her new job. Bobby nearly fell off his seat. Even Steph was a little put off by the sudden question, if her stumbling, vague answer was anything to go by.

The thing that made the whole night worth it, though was that her mother acknowledged that the cupcakes Stephanie had brought with her – the ones she'd apparently made herself from scratch, without burning the house down, one assumes – were not half bad. She'd even requested that Stephanie show her the website where she learned the icing recipe before leaving at the end of the night.

By all accounts, the night was a success. Stephanie socialised fairly normally, her parents actually encouraged her for a change and Grandma Mazur only made two inappropriate comments. The only complaint could be that no one had convinced Stephanie to seek professional help of any kind, but that kind of thing takes time.

She'd pulled away from everyone so completely in recent months that just these small steps back into her old world were major successes. We couldn't expect her to blindly accept the advice of her parents to get grief counselling or see a psychiatrist just because she'd complimented her cake. It would take more than that. They had to rebuild a relationship. Hopefully it would be a better one than they had prior to all of this. Steph needs all the support she can get, and if she won't let us back into her life, it will have to come from her family and other friends.

Bobby had a short list of respected and reputable psychiatrists and psychologists at the ready and had given it to each member of the Plum family along with Mary Lou. I didn't think his half-cocked plan was going to work. Steph had always been loath to ask for help. The only way we were going to get her in the same room as a psych expert was if we tricked her into it.

That just seemed cruel and unnecessary.

Until I re-watched the footage from her bedroom another three times. My heart clenched every time I heard her scream and my fists twitched to hurt the person who'd caused her such anguish and pain. But I couldn't. They were already dead. Someone had poisoned his standard prison meal. I can't say for certain, but I have a feeling Hector had called in some contacts to get that done so swiftly after the funeral.

I adjusted my feet on the desk beside the monitor to relieve the cramp in my calf just as Hank and Hal passed on their way to the elevator. Tank had called the manager of Hogar Home Security first thing on Monday morning to arrange a meeting. Hopes were that we could strike up a deal to share their data. Tank had very high hopes. But I didn't see it happening unless Hogar was more stupid than we thought. If the positions had been reversed, Tankman wouldn't have offered up even the slightest inclination toward the possibility of data sharing. Hank and Hal's job this morning was to convince them that they _were_ in fact that stupid so that we could tap into Steph's alarm system.

Bobby was in his third floor lair dealing with some injuries that had occurred during an early morning raid. And as far as I was aware, Tank was at a specialist appointment for his robo-arm. So essentially, I was in charge. Holding down the fort. The maker of decisions.

So I made one.

The phone on the monitor desk rang just three minutes after the email had been sent. I picked it up before Cal or Junior could even reach for it.

"Tankman Control Centre, what's up?"

"Did we change our name again?" the employee on the other end of the line questioned, confusion tinging his tone. "I've only just finished switching over the stationary…"

Before I could respond, Tank's voice boomed from somewhere nearby. "Fucking hell, Lester!" He appeared at the corner of the monitor station, rage clearly etched into his features. And here I thought he was out of the office… "You're going to confuse everyone! It's RCM Security! GET. IT. RIGHT!"

Putting my hand over the receiver, I turned to Tank. "Relax, man," I soothed. "It's just Greg from Dianaman."

"What?" Tank questioned.

I rolled my eyes. "You know." I swished my hands around my head in the universal sign for crazy. "_Greg_."

"You mean Greg Ingles?" Tank asked, the rage of a moment before having subsided quite substantially in the face of this new information. "The company psychiatrist based at the Miami office?"

I nodded. "Like I said, Greg from Dianaman."

"You're calling it -?"

"Dianaman," I confirmed easily. "Because Diana is in charge there. It's much quicker than saying RCM Security, Miami. It's efficient."

Tank closed his eyes and appeared to be counting backwards from three. I'd learned years ago that he did this when I'd stepped a little too far over the line and he was trying to prevent himself from snapping my neck. Originally, the restraint was because I was the boss's cousin, now it's because I'm the dead boss's cousin and the family would be absolutely grief stricken if they had to lose us both within a year. That or I'd somehow proved to him that I'm a valuable member of the team; that could be it, too.

"What does Greg want?" Tank asked after a long pause.

"To help, usually," I pointed out. "And listen. He's very good at listening." Tank stared at me for a beat before abruptly turning on his heel and walking away. I might be treading on his last nerve. Oops. Finally removing my hand from the phone, I greeted Greg once more. "So, what's up?"

"You know I can still hear everything when you cover the phone, right?" he asked, rather than reply. "And you need to be careful how hard you push Tank. He's been through a lot this year and you're not helping."

"Actually," I replied smugly. "I am."

Greg scoffed. "And how's that?"

"I called you," I pointed out.

"You think Tank needs some more sessions?" Greg asked.

"No," I said, standing from my slouched position and hurrying across to the empty break room so that I was out of earshot of the others. "You know Stephanie?"

"Of course, there isn't an RCM employee who doesn't know of her. How is she holding up?"

I shook my head as I flopped down on the couch. "That's just it. She's not. Not really." I proceeded to tell him about everything that had happened since the funeral. From her hasty departure from the seventh floor apartment, to her equally swift departure from the company after that, and the slower withdrawal from our lives. I included her reaction to Hank's minor injury. Her persistence in not acknowledging us. And finished with the nightmare we'd witnessed on Earring Cam.

"We think she needs to speak to someone," I concluded twenty minutes later, hoping Greg was still listening. The only indication I'd had that he was even still on the line in the last ten minutes was the occasional _mmhmm_. "Bobby has handed out a list of psychs and therapists to all her friends and family. The problem is, she not good at asking for help. And equally not good at taking advice."

"Right," he uttered. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Come up here and talk to her."

I could almost hear him shaking his head. "You just said that she's not good at asking for help and taking advice," Greg reminded me. "How do you propose to get her to sit down and have a chat with me?"

"Subterfuge," I replied.

"That's a terrible idea."

I couldn't deny that. The last thing I wanted to do was trick her into seeing a therapist, but I couldn't take the pain of watching her drift away any longer, knowing that she was still hurting. Hell, we were all still hurting, and her absence only made it worse for us.

"It is," I agreed. "But we're running short on ideas. And watching through hidden cameras while she interacts with her friends and family can only achieve so much."

A soft sigh travelled down the line. "I'll talk to Diana and see if I can get pass."

"Thanks, Greg. I owe you one."

I hung up before he could remind me that I'd dodged my own sessions with him a few too many times and returned the phone to its cradle on the monitor desk.

"What did Greg want?" Cal asked curiously, as I settled back into my chair.

"And what's was with the teenaged, talking from inside a closet routine?" Junior added, giving me a raised eyebrow. "You two have a romance you're trying to keep hidden?"

"None of your business," I growled. And surprisingly, they dropped it. Probably because it was Greg I'd been talking to. They probably assumed that I needed to get some stuff out of my head. If I'd been sneaking around on the phone with anyone else they would have kept at me longer. No one should be ashamed to have a need to talk to Greg and they knew that.

If I was honest with myself, I'd say that just getting the Steph situation off my chest without the constant, "How are we going to get her back?" questions following it up had helped immensely. But I wasn't often honest with myself on these kinds of matters. It was one thing to ask Greg for help on Steph's behalf, but it was another to allow myself the vulnerability to go see him myself. I dealt with my problems in my own way. It may not seem healthy from an outsider's perspective, but it worked for me and that's all that mattered.

_If you haven't already, you should definitely go take a squiz at my new fic "Heroes in a Half Shell." It's much lighter than this fic. _


	10. Chapter 10

_It's so odd to be posting at one in the morning again. I haven't done this in ages. This is what holidays does to me. It screws up my sleep cycle. In two days I have to get up at 5.30am and go to work... _

**Chapter 10**

Steph's POV

"You look like Death warmed over," Veronica informed me as I slumped against the counter.

"Gee thanks," I replied with an eye roll and a yawn.

Veronica hit a few more keys on the computer she sat behind before eyeing me critically once more. "Well you do," she said. "Don't you think Stephanie looks positively ghastly, Heather?"

Heather, who was on her knees silently singing the alphabet in her head a dozen times a minute, put down the latest file in her hand and leaned out from behind the cabinets. Her gaze travelled slowly over my green flats, up the inches of bare leg to the perfectly ironed A-line dress in a deep magenta. She eyed the belt that matched flats. And the cardigan that managed to pull the whole thing together. Her observation lingered over my face for several long moments before flitting to my hair and then returning to settle on eye contact.

"You look like hell," Heather confirmed with a frown, getting to her feet and shaking her legs out before perching her jeans clad butt on the edge of the closest desk. "You haven't caught that stomach bug that's going around, have you? I've had to send four kids home with it so far this week."

I shook my head. It was Wednesday. The middle of the week. Hump day, as Linda called it. And I was tired. To be honest, I'd been tired for eight months, but had learned to live with the lack of sleep the nightly nightmares gifted me with. It had gotten a lot easier when they'd eventually died down to just one screaming awakening a night, but for some reason, they were back with a vengeance. Last night, I'd been so afraid to go to sleep that I'd stared at the ceiling until two o'clock, the time that I usually managed to roll over and actually drift into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Thinking I'd dodged the bullet by-

Thinking I'd escaped the nightmare's hold by staying up during the time they usually plagued me, I finally closed my eyes and allowed sleep to creep in. Only to jerk awake on a raw scream two hours later.

Once my breathing had calmed, I'd stumbled into the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and stared into my own red rimmed, blue eyes in the mirror above the vanity for several aching minutes. What I would have given to have Ranger there, behind me, his thumbs working soothing circles on my shoulders as I attempted to calm down. But that was impossible.

Frustrated with my subconscious for replaying the worst day of my life a million times over while I should have been catching z's, and at my waking brain for longing for that which could never happen, I'd abruptly turned on my heel in much the same way Tank would when he was done with a conversation, and flipped on the taps to start filling the bathtub while I rummaged in the cupboard for the bubble bath.

I'd submerged my body in the scalding hot water, seeking refuge in the gentle fizz of the popping bubbles as they surrounded my ears. I leaned my head against the end of the tub and just stared at the inside of my eyelids for the longest time, waiting for the water to cool enough that I did feel like I was on fire anymore. When finally it reached an appropriate temperature an hour later, I plunged beneath the surface of the water, escaping the reality of the real world for as long as I could hold my breath. As the last bubbles of air drifted from my nose to the frothy surface, I attempted to hold my position a little longer, feeling the burn in my chest telling me to hurry up and breathe already. It was familiar, because I'd felt it every second of every day since Ranger's death, but it was better here in the tub. I controlled it's power over me. I allowed it for as long as I wanted. And when I'd had enough, I burst through the surface gasping in the warm air that lingered in around me.

Blinking away the memory of this morning, I realised that I'd probably been standing there silently for a long time. Focussing on Heather and Veronica's concerned expressions, I tried and failed to recall if they'd asked a question that I should be answering. Eventually, I just shrugged and mentioned, "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Ohhhh," Heather said, drawing the sound out with a knowing nod. "I see. Haven't been _sleeping_ well. Tell me more."

Before I could shoot down her suggestive tone, though, Veronica was slapping her in the arm with the ruler from her top drawer. "_Heather_," she hissed, giving a third slap. "That's really insensitive."

"What?" Heather asked.

"Steph's fiancé _died_ earlier this year," Veronica reminded her, while I did some deep breathing to try not to break down.

"So?" Heather replied. "A girl has needs. No one's gonna blame her for getting a little action."

Another round of ruler slaps followed. "She. Lost. Her. True. Love. You. Withered. Old. Cow," Veronica grit out, punctuating each word with a slap. "True love is forever. There's no bouncing back from that."

Heather scoffed, moving out of reach of the ruler. "Like you would know? Making eyes at a married man."

"I'm going to check on Lucy in the sick room," I mentioned, tucking a curl that had escaped my bun behind my ear. "Let me know when you're done talking about me like I'm not in the room."

*o*

When I returned to the office half an hour later, after cleaning up the vomit Lucy Burt had managed to _not_ get inside the bucket she held, I moved straight to my desk and picked up the handset intending on calling Lucy's parents again. The problem here, of course, was that most parents worked full time these days and the possibility of even making contact with either one of them, let alone getting them to physically come and collect their sick child was almost impossible. I was shaking my head at the state of parenthood with while scrolling through the electronic contact list when I noticed the presence of a low murmuring voice in the background.

My first instinct was to assume it was Gregory, the principal, but timbre of the voice was all wrong. Gregory had a relatively high voice – for a male, that is – and spoke in a slightly lilting, almost musical cadence. This man, whoever he was, had more of a rumble.

"Is that Lucy's Dad?" I asked Veronica, spinning slightly in my chair so see her.

But Veronica wasn't listening. She had her elbow propped on her desk and her chin propped in her hand, staring with dreamy eyes at whoever it was. I rolled my eyes, and stood to make my way over to where Heather was stood at the enquiries counter. Only then did I think to look at the man in question.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Staring. My mom would have pinched the back of my hand and whispered a quick admonishment about me being rude if she'd been there. But she wasn't. And I kept on. I took in the sheer size of the man first. It was my initial reason for pause. For a moment, I thought Tank had finally crossed the line and showed up at my work to harass me some more about ignoring him. But then I noted that he wasn't _quite_ as big as Tank. And his skin wasn't _quite_ as dark as Tank's. And he had both his arms, unlike Tank. In short, it wasn't Tank. It wasn't even a Merry Man. It was just some random buff guy.

Finishing my approach to the counter, I sent the man a brief, friendly smile before glancing to Heather. "Is everything all right?" I asked her.

"Fine," she said absently. "Mr. Ingles is considering transferring his daughter here and would like a tour of our facilities." She prised her eyes off the man's bulging pectoral muscles long enough to send me a fleeting look. "Would you mind taking over the filing while I – um …" Her attention had returned to the man's chest once more as he reached up to scratch the back of his head and the muscles bulged under the thin material of his grey shirt.

Amateur. Heather clearly hadn't spent enough time around well-muscled men if her brain was this addled by his mere presence.

"I'll take care of the tour," I informed her, sending the patiently waiting man another friendly smile. "You get back to your filing."

When Heather made no move to return to her task, I offered an apology to Mr. Distraction and promised to be back in a moment, before taking gently by the shoulders and guiding her back to the file cabinet. "Act professionally, would you?" I admonished, cringing at how much I sounded like my mother.

"Easy for you to say," Veronica said, still staring in the direction of the man. "You're used to that kind of sight."

I rolled my eyes again. "I bet neither of you noticed the ring on his finger, did you?" I said quietly, placing a file in Heather's hand and opening a random drawer of the cabinet she was now peering around. "I'll be back soon."

"Spare no details!" Heather called after me as I made my way around the counter and through the door that lead to the visitor's area where Mr. Muscle was waiting for his tour.

"Sorry about that," I mentioned, extending hand as I came to a stop a couple of feet away. "I'm Stephanie, it's nice to meet you Mr…." I'd forgotten his name.

"Ingles," he supplied, taking my hand in his and gripping it firmly for a brief moment. "Please, call me Greg."

"It's nice to meet you, Greg," I repeated. "Shall we get this tour underway?"

"Please," he agreed. He was the most mild-mannered, muscle man I'd ever encountered outside of Rangeman, and I'd encountered my fair share of he-men over the years. My experience was that generally, they wanted to chuck me in a dumpster, or stuff me in a suitcase, or beat me to a pulp. But this man just seemed concerned about his daughter's education. "Sophie's going into third grade," he informed me as I lead him down the corridor.

"Sophie is your daughter?" I asked, conversationally.

"One of them," he confirmed with a nod. "Sierra just started middle school this year."

"Just the two?"

Another nod. "My wife wanted a boy, but we were never lucky enough."

"Living with three women must keep you on your toes," I mentioned, thinking of the havoc my sister, mother and I had plagued Dad with when Val and I were growing up.

"It does get interesting at times," he agreed with a short laugh. "Do you mind if I ask some questions about the school?"

"Of course not."

"Great," he smiled as we rounded the first corner. "What kind of music program do you have? Sophie loves to sing. She had her hopes on joining the school choir until they cancelled funding for the music program there."

"Oh, Mrs. Rafferty is brilliant," I enthused, exactly the way Veronica had when she'd given _me_ the tour a few months back. "She studied music method in Hungary at this special world famous school and is often invited to perform as a guest artist with the Symphony Orchestra."

"Sounds impressive."

I simply nodded and peek through the glass portion of the classroom we'd reached. "This is the third grade classroom," I explained, opening the door. "The children must be at a specialist class at the moment. Would you like to take a look around?"

Rather than reply, he sent me another warm smile and stepped inside the room. As he walked slowly through the rows of desks, examining the artwork and writing examples tacked to the wall and hanging from the ceiling, I stood in the doorway, marvelling at how much better I was at this interpersonal communication thing than I had been when I started here. After years of hanging around macho men and dealing with criminals on a regular basis, I'd had to retrain my entire manner of being in order to fit and do my job properly.

"The teacher is nice?" Greg asked, coming to stand beside me at the door when he was through.

"Very," I confirmed. "All the teachers are nice. Would you like to see the music rooms next?"

He nodded ascent and followed me from the room, trailing a step behind the entire way. We were silent for a few beats, and I assumed he was just taking in the environment, but then he asked a question that had the hairs on the back of my head rising. I don't know whether it was the question itself, or the way that he asked it, but I suddenly knew.

"What's the security like?" he asked, pointing to a camera tucked into the corner were two walls met the ceiling.

I turned to face him, looking him over more fully than I had in the office. Yes, he wore a grey button down shirt faded jeans, but his feet were clad in an unmistakeable pair of black combat boots. It didn't matter that he'd tucked his jeans over top of them. I recognised their shape without a problem.

"Security is provided by the government's nominated service provider," I informed him stiffly. "But I have a feeling you already knew that."

"Sorry?" he murmured, appearing, for all intents and purposes, confused.

"What's your occupation, Mr. Ingles?" I asked, just to distract myself from flying off the handle.

"I'm a psychiatrist," he replied easily.

"You don't look like a psychiatrist," I said.

"Looks can be deceiving," he said, but there was a new guarded nature to his tone and his expression was just a little more blank than it had been moments ago.

"Tell Tank I'm fine," I told him. "I don't need a psychiatrist. I don't need his help. I'm fine."

"He's just worried about you," Greg said softly, dropping the charade as he straightened his shoulders. "They all are."

I squared my own shoulders and turned to head back in the direction from which we'd come. "Then tell them to stop worrying about me. And don't ever think about sending a Merry Man undercover to spy on me." And with that, I stalked away, all the way back to the office, my soft soled shoes making far less noise than it would take to satisfy my tantrum metre. Probably, I'd have to go for a run after work just to get my frustration out.

I _hate_ running.

Why couldn't they just get the picture? It hurt to look at them. It hurt to be around them. I just wanted to be left alone to try and rebuild my life. There was no way I would ever get the torn shreds to look and feel the way they used to, especially with such a vital element missing, but I had to try. The constant stream of Merry Men popping up out of the scenery was not helping. Not one bit. It only made my heart ache that little bit extra when I had to push them away again.


	11. Chapter 11

_This chapter gave me great pleasure to write. It was good to take a break from all the angst for a bit and teach Lester a lesson. I hope you enjoy it._

**Chapter 11**

Tank's POV

A sick sense of satisfaction spread through me at the look on Lester and Greg's faces as they stepped into the private training room down the hall from the main gym. Served them right for disobeying a direct order. I don't know how many times I told all the Trenton men to stay away from Stephanie while we trialled the second phase with her friends and family. I should have known that if anyone was going to step out of line on this issue it would be Lester. He'd always had a soft spot for her and seeing her hurting was doing damage to his already tenuous control. And Greg, while he hadn't be subjected to the same warnings, he should have at least known better than to take Lester's word for it. He gave the man his psych evaluation, for fuck sake.

So yes, I was pleased with the reactions the setup of the room prompted in the men. Maybe, if this worked, they'd think twice before doing something so stupid behind my back next time.

I'd already spent forty minutes yelling at the pair upstairs in my office, but I couldn't be sue that they – Lester especially – hadn't simply zoned me out and starting thinking about ponies or whatever. So I'd instructed them to meet me here in thirty minutes, and dismissed them.

The moment the office door swung closed behind Greg I had my phone in my hand, calling the twins. They'd been itching to show off their specially set of skills since I'd hired them six months ago. Unfortunately, the opportunity never came up. Until now.

They'd had their boards dragged up from storage and set up in the room within fifteen minutes and then took another five minutes to set out their knives. I'd inspected them closely to be sure they weren't using gimmicks and was surprised to find that the knives they'd selected were actually military grade. A smile twitched at the corner of my lips just thinking of Lester's reaction as Jim and Tim left the room to "find their centres" or "get in the zone" or whatever. I didn't question them. The idea was to scare the men into shitting their pants territory, not accidentally nick and artery and send them to hospital. What they needed to do, they could do it.

"I thought you were calling me to the mats," Lester said, eyeing the round boards that had been erected at one end of the room.

"In the private training room?" I questioned, one eyebrow raised.

Lester shrugged, giving the wheel an experimental shove to see how easily it moved. "You haven't really called anyone to the mats since you lost your arm," he pointed out, moving to the second board and running a finger along a stain that could only have been caused by spilt blood. "I just figured you didn't want an audience.

"No," I said simply, shaking my head. "But I'd love an audience for this. Maybe I should get the control room to record it so we can play it back at the Christmas party this year." That sounded like such a great idea, in fact, that I did just that.

"You're seriously going to throw knives at us?" Greg asked in disbelief, testing the point of a knife he'd picked up.

"Not me," I countered, and as if on cue, Tim and Jim entered the room, grinning from ear to ear. I had to do a double take because of what they were wearing, but managed to keep my surprise hidden as I added. "Them."

Greg appeared suitably perplexed by the whole situation, since he had yet to meet the twins, but Lester just groaned and shook his head.

"I think the lycra short are punishment enough," he mentioned, gesturing to the lime green tiger print shorts that clung to the pair's muscular legs. "Was the matching animal print really necessary?"

Tim grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Adds to the flare," he explained nonchalantly, crossing to the table where Greg still stood holding the knife he'd been examining. He took it from the man and tossed it in the air absently.

"Get's me in the right mind set," Jim added, pulling a red balloon from somewhere – and I didn't want to know where – on his person and blowing it up to almost full capacity. He then attached it to one of the wheels and repeated the process.

"That's true," Tim agreed, glancing over his shoulder to where Jim was working. "You should see him try to do this without the lycra." He shook his head and chucked the knife over his shoulder, like he was discarding it and it flew straight to the balloon Jim had just pinned to the wheel, missing his brother by less than an inch. "Lives have been lost."

The twins paused in their work and lowered their heads as a sign of respect for the dead, but I knew for a fact that they were referring to war criminals and other such scum that the government had deemed unfit to share our earth. They could hit the jugular every single time, no matter the distance.

"I'm not sure I understand," Greg announced from his position by the wall where he'd retreated when Tim started juggling three knives in one hand while straightening another on the table.

"Tim and Jim-."

"_Jim and Tim_," the twins corrected Lester in unison.

"Jim and Tim grew up in the circus," he explained, joining Greg at the wall. "They specialised in Impalement Arts."

Greg nodded, eyes wide. "I see." A long pause stretched out and I thought he was going to leave it at that, but eventually he worked up enough courage ask the question on his mind. "So the deaths you mentioned just before…?"

"Relax," Jim said finishing up with the balloons on the first wheel and moving on to the second. "We've never killed anyone during a show."

"Or in practice," Tim added.

"Then…"

"Oh, the government likes our skills a lot," Jim explained. "Started noticing us when we were still in basic."

Lester shook his head. "How exactly does one go from the travelling circus to the military?" he asked.

"We got bored," Tim said with a shrug.

"And the military gave us access to a whole new set of weapons," Jim chipped in. "We've expanded our act a lot since we were eighteen."

"We suggested that Tank let us demonstrate our skill with rifles instead," Tim continued. "But that would take more space and time to set up, so we had to stick with plain old knives for today."

"Booooooorrriiinnnnngggggg," they droned together.

"Everyone understand now?" I asked, stuffing my hand into my pocket. "Do you need a demonstration of their skill?"

They shook their heads no. Greg pointed out, "Tim already has."

"Rightie-o, then," I said, leaning back against the wall. "Jim, Tim, get to it."

Grinning at each other, they each seized the other's fist, using the hold to pull themselves together and butt heads. I'd seem them do this on several occasions right before they wreaked havoc on some poor unsuspecting FTA. It was like in that head butt, they transferred thoughts so that they each knew exactly what the other had planned. Twinepathy or whatever. They broke apart and turned their sadistic grins on their victims, gesturing for them to stand in front of wheels they'd just finished setting up.

"Alright," Jim started, reaching behind the wheel Lester was stood in front of and switching something on the back. Tim did the same on his own wheel. "What we're gonna start off with is something nice and simple. Stand exactly where you are. Let's get a parade rest going on, yeah?"

Obediently, Lester and Greg tucked their hands behind their backs and distributed their weight on spread feet, staring straight ahead.

"Good, good," Tim jumped in flicking an imaginary piece of lint off Greg's shoulder. "So Jim and I are gonna head over to our little table over here," he explained, doing just that and picking up a knife. "You were inspecting these knives when we rocked up, were you not?" he asked Greg, pointing the knife in his general direction. "You're satisfied that they are, indeed, real knives, capable of cause very real bodily harm?"

Greg nodded.

"Lester, you trust Greg's judgement? Or would you like to inspect a knife yourself?"

Rather than reply, Lester asked, "What's with all the yammering? You're not in the centre ring. Just start throwing already."

Jim and Tim shared a glance. "Lester," Tim said sternly. "We specialise in Impalement _Arts_. Not Impalement _Method_. We took an oath to be entertaining. It just doesn't work without the talking. You need to understand exactly what it is we're about to do."

"You're about to chuck knives at my head," Lester scoffed.

I'd had enough. "Shut it, Santos. You're ruining the atmosphere they're creating."

Jim and Tim grinned again and began juggling the knives between them. "See, the thing is, Lester," Tim explained. "We're not going to hurl knives at your head. For now we're just gonna hit those little red balloons on the wheels. Sound like a plan?"

This last was directed to me over Jim's shoulder, they were still juggling. I simply shrugged. "It doesn't seem very impressive," I pointed out.

"We'll get to impressive in a minute," Jim assured me and without even missing a beat, they were suddenly tossing the knives in the direction of the two men on the other side of the room. The only sound in the room for a few seconds was the rapid popping of the balloons.

When all the balloons were popped, and silence reigned but for the very audible breathing coming from Greg, I stepped forward to check out their work. There were a total of ten balloons on each wheel, and no more than ten knives sticking out of each. Precision.

"Good work," I complimented, stepping back.

"Yeah," Lester agreed, sounding sarcastic. "Good work. None of those balloons were anywhere near me."

Greg, on the other hand, looked like his eyes were about to fall out of his head.

"The man doubts our skill," Jim said to his brother.

"Strap them up," Tim replied.

Several minutes later, Lester and Greg were strapped to the boards and Jim was placing the tied end of a balloon in each of their hands. They stood back, grabbed a couple of knives off the table and, without preamble this time, threw all four knives at exactly the same time. Greg flinched as the knives neared his hands, but remained uninjured as the shreds of latex floated to the ground.

"How was that?" Tim asked.

"Close enough?" Jim enquired.

Greg nodded, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his slightly laboured breath. I guess he didn't see a lot of action. I'd have to ask Diana about that next time we spoke.

Lester, on the other hand, looked almost bored. He jerked his hips back and forth a little, like he was testing the balance of the board, or the strength of his straps. "Isn't this thing supposed to spin?" he asked, looking from twin to twin. "This is supposed to be the Wheel of Death, right? Spinning."

"Oh, you want the spinning?" Jim asked. He turned to his brother. "Lester want's the spinning, Tim."

"Let's get the spin happening, then, Jim," Tim replied, and the pair moved forward, reaching behind the boards once more to the switches that must have been there. I hadn't realised the boards were motorised, but they must have been to keep spinning at that steady pace while Jim and Tim stood back to start explaining their next trick.

"Can I just say," Greg requested, speaking up for the first time since he was asked about the knives "That I did _not_ want the spinning?"

"You don't get motion sickness, do you?" Tim asked, sounding concerned all of a sudden.

"No," Greg replied. But I had a feeling that could change in an instant.

"Good," Tim said. "So the idea here is, we're gonna aim our knives as close to your body as possible without hitting you while you're spinning around."

"Have you ever accidentally hit a person during this trick before?" I asked, scratching the chin.

"Tim has," Jim supplied after a moment's consideration. "But in his defence, he was drunk at the time."

Tim shook his head in denial. "No idiot, that was you."

"Oh right," Jim agreed. "It was."

I allowed them to perform the Wheel of Death, as they called it, just once with Greg. He was letting out these little whimpers that were completely unmanly, and looking a little green around the gills by the time they stopped throwing the knives. Lester, though, was still not impressed. He was pretty much laughing at them as they collected their knives.

"Is that all you have?" he asked while Jim was setting the knives back on the table and Tim and I were assisting Greg over to the chair in the corner. "You're going to let me off that easy?"

"Oh no," Tim assured him, joining his brother's side once more while I made sure the trash can was within Greg's reach in case he needed to hurl. "We're not done with you."

"Have you heard of the Double Ladder of Death?"

Lester shook his head.

"That's where we _both_ throw our knives at you," Tim explained taking a step to the side and swinging his arm like he needed to loosen his shoulder muscles. "The idea is, I am for your left side, while Jim here," he tapped his brother's shoulder, "Aim for your right side. And we ladder the knives up each side of your body."

Lester nodded his understanding. "So your throws will be crossing," he surmised.

"Exactly," Tim said.

The strapped man shrugged as best he could. "Okay."

Jim rolled his eyes, balancing a knife on its tip in the centre of his palm before tossing up and catching it by the grip. "Thing is," he mentioned lazily. "We think that's a little tame."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "We thought we'd attempt it while you're spinning instead."

Lester's brows drew together at the wording, and I could understand why, the word attempt _did_ leave an element of doubt hanging in the air. "Attempt?" he questioned, a few beads of sweat finally appearing on his upper lip. "You mean you've never tried it before?"

"Nope," Jim confirmed.

"Never," Tim added.

"It'll be fun," they said together.

Cutting his eyes to me, Lester seemed to be silently asking if I was really going to let the twins experiment with his life. I felt bad for him, really, I did. But he had to learn to follow orders. He'd never been this brazen when his cousin was in charge, so why should I have to put up with it? Maybe this little scare would do him good. After a few more moments of Lester's ridiculous pleading eyes, I beckoned the nearest twin, Jim, over and we had a quick whispered conversation which ended in him nodding and returning to his place.

"I'm just gonna type out a quick text to Bobby so that if anything goes wrong all I have to do is hit send," I informed Lester calmly. I had every faith that we wouldn't need him though. According to Jim they'd done this trick a million times. "It should be fine though, right Tim?"

"Right," Tim confirmed, over by Lester once more. "But just in case, the safe word is…" He glanced over his shoulder to Jim. "What's the safe word again?"

Jim screwed up his face. "I could never pronounce it. It starts with G, though, doesn't it?"

Tim shook his head. "I was pretty sure it started with a K…"

"Can we just make it pineapple?" Lester asked. "Pineapple sounds like a great safe word."

Jim and Tim exchanged a look and shrugged.

"Pineapple works," Jim allowed. "So if we hit you, or you've had enough, just yell pineapple and we'll stop. Got it?"

Lester nodded, eyes widening as he began to perspire in earnest. "Got it. Pineapple."

Tim reached behind the wheel and flicked the switch to start the spinning once more, and everyone in the room noticed that it was at least twice the speed of the last trick. Greg let out another whimper at the very thought of rotating that fast and I was pretty sure he would be eternally grateful for the fact that I'd spared him this particular experience.

The twins took a moment or two to get in position before their rapid tosses began and I had to marvel over how perfectly synchronised they were. They'd used up all the knives on the table bar one working their way up the outside of Lester's legs and either side of his torso. Tim pressed the tip of the last knife into his finger tip and tilted his head, contemplating the end result. "There's one left," he mentioned, just in case Lester hadn't noticed. At this point, Jim leaned over and whispered my earlier request in his brother's ear. The shit eating grins that spread across both their faces was worth any and all complaining I would have to endure from Lester about this in the future.

"I know where it needs to go," Tim informed Lester. And without another word, he hurled the sharp implement directly at Lester's crotch, slicing a nice clean hole in the black fabric of his cargo pants as the tip impaled itself into the board.

"PINEAPPLE!" Lester screeched. "PINE-FUCKING-APPLE!"

*o*

I'd just settled back in my chair after shooting the specs of the upcoming tech upgrade to Hector and Hank to see if we could get away with not hiring someone external to do the job this time around when my desk phone started ringing.

"RCM Security, Tank speaking," I greeted.

"So it _is_ still RCM Security then?" Diana, the manager of the Miami branch, asked on the other end. "I was a little concerned by all these Tankman references in Greg's check in email. Thought you'd let the power inflate that bulbous head of yours."

I shook the head in question, wondering if it did, indeed, appear bulbous when I shaved it. "It's Lester," I explained. "He's convinced that giving each branch a nickname based on the manager's name is more efficient."

She tittered out an indulgent laugh. "Well, it might be," she agreed. "If he actually told everyone before he just started shooting the terms around."

"That's Lester for you," I shrugged, switching her to speaker so I could click through the multitude of emails that had accumulated in my inbox during my two hour absence. "Inefficiently efficient."

"That he is," Diana agreed. "So are your tech guys good with that upgrade I sent through last week?"

As if on cue, an email appeared at the top of my inbox from Hector. I opened it and quickly scanned through the short, Spanish message. "Hector says he needs more training before he'd be comfortable executing something of that scale and complexity," I translated. Frankly, I was surprised. Hector was a tech genius. I'd never seen him stumped by anything, but if he was turning this job down, he must have good reasons.

"Okay," Diana said simply, sounding slightly distracted. "I'll send my guy up."

"Do we need to trade?" I asked, knowing these tech upgrades could sometimes take weeks and that Diana only really had one tech guy of any use on staff. I didn't want to leave her short-handed in case something went wrong with her systems in the interim.

"No, no," she said. "We'll be fine. What's this about Greg being strapped to a spinning board and having knives thrown at him in rapid succession?"

I groaned, leaning forward to hit my head against the desk. Of course Greg would tell his boss. "He didn't think to check Lester's story and potentially set our operation back a couple of months," I explained, hoping to avoid one of Diana's phenomenal rages. She was fiercely protective of her crew. "I had to make sure my message got through to Lester and decided it would be easier to just lump them both together. I'm afraid Greg didn't fair too well."

"Hey," she said, sounding surprisingly casual. "No complaints here. I'm actually a little jealous, to tell the truth. I can think of a few men I wouldn't mind giving the same treatment." She paused just a moment before adding. "Do you think I could borrow Tim and Jim some time?"

"Jim and Tim," I corrected her automatically. "They like it alphabetical. And I'm sure the twins would love a trip to Miami. Just tell me when and I'll send them right down."

"Excellent," she murmured, sounding more like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons than I'd ever heard, and then, she was gone. I shouldn't be surprised though, Diana wrote the book on abruptly ending phone conversations.

~T~

_Who's your favourite? Jim or Tim?_


	12. Chapter 12

_Sorry for the wait on this chapter, everyone, but I got absorbed by a (couple of) books. I'm doing the Pop Sugar 2015 Reading challenge, which requires me to read a total of 52 books across the categories listed on their post. It's going to be difficult, since last year I read a total of 14 books and this year the challenge wants me to broaden my horizons a little by reading things I would normally steer clear of, but hey they call it a challenge for a reason. Is anyone else out there doing the challenge?_

**Chapter 12**

Steph's POV

The dim glow from the nightlight in the en suite bathroom was just enough light for me to be able read the hand written instructions on the side of the little pill bottle on my bedside table. _Take one tablet with water as required before bed._ Bobby's script was far from the usual scrawl of any doctor I'd ever seen, and a lot more legible than half the Merry Men. Just this small reminder of the men I had accepted as my extended family had my chest aching in a way that a year ago would only have come from one of Ranger's attempts to get me to go jogging with him. It always ended with me doubled over, out of breath far sooner than was expected of me.

My fiancé would realise, after a hundred metres or so, that I was no longer with him and double back, a slight grin gracing those lips I loved to kiss so much. He'd shake his head at me while I tried desperately to pull oxygen into my lungs; a futile attempt, since in the next moment he would toss me up over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of me once again. He'd then jog back to Rangeman – me still on his shoulder – and set me down in the cool air conditioning of the lobby, so that at least if I did keel over, there would be medical attention readily available.

Just after his death, in the wake of his funeral, I'd found the ache in my chest that came whenever I thought of him, or whenever the Merry Men were exceptionally nice to me – which was always – more worrisome. I wasn't exerting myself, so why did it feel like someone was sitting on my chest?

It took weeks for me to figure out that I'd taken to unconsciously holding my breath. It was a preventative act, I guessed. If I held my breath at a time when I wanted to cry, it gave me something else to focus on. The burning of my lungs as they registered the lack of air flowing through them was just enough to distract me from the dull, persistent ache that was my shattered heart. Whenever I felt I was about to lose control, I held my breath and eventually, it ebbed back into the background to be dealt with later. Or never. Preferably never.

Eventually, though, the breath holding became just as much a problem as they original heart ache, so I'd had to install another control method in my life to counteract its effects. That was the running. The laboured breathing, the whole body ache, the burning of my lungs. Running provided me with a more natural way of smothering the ache – a more physical ache to cover it up. Probably, between the breath holding and the ill-formed running, I was doing myself brain damage via lack of oxygen, but part of me was hoping that if it was killing my brain, it would start with the part that made me hurt so much. That it would ease the pain of loss and de-oxygenation before slowly devouring the rest of me.

I blinked, clearing away the tears that had gathered at my lashes, despite my trapped breath. _That's what happens when you allow yourself to think of them_, I reminded myself. _Of him._ Blowing out the breath I held, I refocused on the pill bottle.

It had been three days since Tank had sent an unknown Merry Man to the school where I worked in his latest attempt to reel me back in to the constant emotional pain I experienced when surrounded by the men, and each night I had played out this same struggle. My desire to sleep, to feel refreshed, to be able to function, warred with my refusal to lie down and close my eyes, to let the nightmares creep back into my mind and seize me in their great, clawed hands and twist until I felt like I was going to die. I knew that the pills significantly lessened the dreams, but they didn't eliminate them completely as Bobby had assured me they would. I guess the fears and anxieties they fed on were just too strong to be knocked out by a mere sleeping pill.

I shuffled back, further onto the bed, pulling my feet up to cross them beneath me as I reached for the bottle. Its contents rattled as I tipped it to the side, twisting the cap off. Pills tumbled over one another, clamouring to escape as they piled into my hand. I stared at them for long moments, feeling them dig into my palm as I wrapped my fingers around them.

So many thoughts filled my head as I stared down at them, slowly sifting them back into the bottle and out of sight once more. I knew that if I took enough of them I would go to sleep and never wake up, the agony of life over forever, but my Catholic guilt prevented me from taking such a dreadful course of action, and I knew in my heart of hearts that if I committed suicide I would never meet Ranger in the afterlife. Good men that greet death at the hands of bad men do not go to the same place as sad women who take their own lives, so there was no point there.

I knew I could never follow through with the act, anyway. I was too chicken shit for that. I'd just end up in the ICU, with my stomach freshly pumped and my name on the suicide watch list. I could never do that to my family.

Once the bottle was full once more – and I mean practically brimming – I set it back on the bedside table. Just like every other time I thought about taking them. Never had I voluntarily swallowed one. I didn't like the way they left me feeling disoriented in the morning, swimming back to consciousness, rather than slowly waking up.

Bobby had slipped me a pill the night of Ranger's funeral when it became clear that I would not be able to fall asleep on my own. I'd hated him for it the next day, but the tension had eased when he promised not to do it again. He did, however, provide me with the bottle of pills in case I _decided_ I needed them.

I hadn't.

Not once in eight months.

I always found something to distract my mind enough that I would fall asleep on my own without the anxiety of the dreams I knew would greet me running through my brain. And that's exactly what I did now.

Jumping off the bed, I made my way downstairs in the dark, only turning a light on when I reached the entrance to the living room. My laptop sat on the coffee table, just where I'd left it, the television remote right beside it, but neither the internet, nor mindless TV reruns could save me from the monsters that lived in my head. They weren't consuming enough. I crossed the room to the curtained window on the other side, kneeling down in front of it and running my hands over the smooth, polished wood of the trunk on the floor. With a deep breath – one that I was careful to remember to let back out – I wrenched the box open and peered in at the jumbled mess, wondering what would catch my eye tonight.

I lifted a tangled ball of wool that had on knitting needle sticking out of it and set it aside on the floor while I examined the rest of the contents. One end of the yarn trailed behind and disappeared into the depths of the chest, probably attached to the other knitting needle. I pulled on the string to see if the end would reveal itself, but gave up when I met resistance. I wasn't ready to take another shot at knitting just yet anyway. The last attempt was still too fresh in my mind. I'd spent an hour yelling at my computer screen as the Youtube tutorial left me almost as confused I was before starting off.

A pile of colourful square paper and a few mangled shapes that were supposed to be paper cranes joined the yarn on the floor, quickly followed by a sketchbook full of terrible drawings that look nothing like the "beginner drawing" tutorials I'd watched to create them, a clump of clay that had been double wrapped to keep it moist for future sculpting attempts, and a ukulele – one o'clock in the morning was definitely not the time to start strumming on that and producing the cringe worthy sounds that were inevitable, even if it was in the privacy of my own home.

I sifted through the rest of the items, discarding more and more as I came closer to the bottom. A tennis racket, roller skates, a torn painter's canvas, the second knitting needle (still attached to the yarn, just as I'd suspected), two out of three juggling balls and a box of beads all joined the pile before I finally picking up one of the four books I'd bought but never managed to read. I settled on the couch, tugging the blanket from the back down to spread over my legs as I cracked open the book.

I forced myself to keep reading, sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, page after page, chapter after chapter until I'd finished the book, slowly closing it and rubbing my eyes. I glanced to the window realising with a start that it was full daylight outside. My nightmares had been successfully avoided for now, but that didn't mean they couldn't turn into daymares if I wasn't careful. I needed to keep busy so I wouldn't accidentally fall asleep.

Stretching, I made my way to the kitchen to start coffee brewing while I examined my cereal collection to see which had the highest caffeine content. A glance at the display on the microwave as I carried a bowl of dismally caffeine-free cereal to the small breakfast table in the corner told me it was already approaching eleven o'clock. Luckily it was Saturday.

Any other weekend I'd have written off the day after starting so late. I'd lazed away the morning, no use in trying to fit something adventurous in now. But I needed to occupy myself or I would lose myself to the horrors that lived in my head twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

I had some errands that probably should have been run during the week, but had been pushed aside in order to go running and forget about my problems, so I wrote myself a list while I finished breakfast then went upstairs to change and fix my hair before heading out. Just as I made it to the door, though, I head footfalls on the three steps leading to my front porch. I paused, waiting for the doorbell to ring, but it never happened. Instead, an envelope skidded under the door. My curiosity about the envelope and what it held was almost consuming, but it was overpowered by my desire to see who would slip an envelope under my front door on a Saturday morning rather than handing me the contents themselves or merely sticking it in the mailbox.

Peering through the peep hole I'd had installed when I moved in, I caught sight of the back of a black clad man: hulking build, dark skin, dark fuzz covering his scalp, one arm. Tank. Frustration rose in my throat. Annoyance that he didn't get the message to leave me alone. But at least he hadn't tried to make face to face contact this time. Hadn't even bothered to hail my attention, despite obviously knowing that I'd be home. I'd checked my handbag and car for tracking devices just two days ago and hadn't found anything, but that didn't mean there weren't any, just that I couldn't find them.

I watched Tank drive away then bent to pick up the envelope he'd left me, surprised by it's weight and rigidness. Not what I'd been expecting. My curiosity ratcheted up a notch, but I forced myself to turn and slip the envelope into the draw of the side table where it settled directly on top of the last unopened piece of correspondence I'd received from Rangeman. Before I could change my mind, I removed myself from the house, list in hand, to get stuff done. Life had to continue as normal, no matter what, or it would start to fall apart.

_It takes a lot of effort to deny the natural human urge to open things. What do you think is inside this envelope? And the last one she received?_


	13. Chapter 13

_On the one hand, I feel like I'm making progress and that the conclusion will be on me before I know it. But on the other hand, is another five fingers representing plot points that are yet to appear... but progress is good, right? One foot in front of the other?_

**Chapter 13**

Cal's POV

The week had been full of bad news. First there was the nightmare I witnessed on earring cam that left Steph's scream haunting every second of my thoughts, both waking and sleeping. Then there was Lester's malformed plan to get Steph to talk to us, pulling in Greg Ingles the company psychiatrist who really should have known better than to take anything Lester said for granted. The only plus side there was the video Tank had Hector circulate of Lester screaming like a girl after Tim and Jim threw knives at his crotch.

And of course now I was in for a fantastic Friday evening at a dinner party my girlfriend's sister was throwing. Please note the heavy sarcasm weighing down that statement. No one wants to have dinner with a guy with a flaming skull tattooed on his forehead. No one except Molly, that is. Molly adores my tattoo. Or so she keeps telling me. I find that hard to believe of a girl who had a strict 'burg upbringing. She'd seemed more brainwashed than Steph when I first met her, but now- I can't articulate how different she is now. It's like she was just _waiting_ for someone like me to come along and undo a lifetime of conditioning.

"Isn't that right, Cal?" Molly murmured now, laying a hand on my forearm and bringing my attention back to the banal conversation I'd tuned out of almost as soon as it began.

I glanced down at her, attempting a soft smile when all I wanted to do was march across the room and demand information. But that would probably cause a scene and make Molly – not to mention everyone else – angry and suspicious.

"Whatever you say, Butternut," I agreed, though to what I had no idea.

She sent me a strained smile in reply, but I could tell she knew I wasn't listening, that I was distracted, on edge. "See?" she said to her sister's friend and quickly re-entered the conversation I'd been ignoring. She left her hand on my arm, though, keeping me present with her, reminding me that she was there.

I stared at her profile while she spoke animatedly with the friend I hadn't bothered to learn the name of, my mind still on how to seamlessly move across the room and engage in conversation with my informant. The attempts I'd made previously had been futile; fumbling. All I'd managed to do was confirm was that she was the person I thought she was and that she did, indeed, work with Stephanie. I was not practiced in making small talk, however, so I'd been swiftly steered away from the topic I'd wanted to discuss and dumped into the middle of a conversation about my tattoo decisions. All information on Stephanie left dreadfully out of reach until such a time as I could take the reins of the conversation.

"Excuse us," Molly requested of the person she was talking to, before pulling me across the room and into the empty kitchen. I allowed her to lead me, despite the fact that I could have stopped her in her tracks with just a tenth of my strength. She liked to think she was in charge. And I liked to let her be in charge.

Once we were alone she turned to face me with her hands on hips, her expression appearing more menacing that she probably intended with her blonde bangs falling in her face. "What's wrong?" she demanded, flicking the hair off her face with a jerk of her head. It only added to the possessed vibe she was exuding. "Where have you been all night?"

I blinked twice, slightly confused. "I haven't-"

She let out a disgruntled growl. "Yes, technically, you've been by my side. But you've been far from mentally present. Where. Have. You. Been?"

I sighed and leaned my hip against the counter beside me, running a hand over the stubble on my scalp. And just like that, Molly softened. She stepped forward, eliminating the space between us in less than a second as her hands came up to rest on either side of my face. "It's Steph still, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

Nodding, I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. I said nothing, simply pressing my face into her hair to inhale the flowery scent.

"Have there been any new developments?" she enquired, trailing her fingers down my face and neck and then up across my head. I'd told Molly everything to do with the Steph situation, revelling in the fact that none of the details were anywhere near classified. It was the first time I'd ever been able to give her a full set of details about something that was going on at work.

I shook my head, pressing a kiss to her hair and pulling back a bit. "We haven't made contact since Lester's half-cocked scheme with Greg," I informed her. "But-"

"But what?" She sounded suspicious. I couldn't blame her. Nothing good usually followed a but.

"What's your sister's best friend's name?" I asked, despite the fact that I already knew her full name, date of birth, place of residence, occupation and marital status.

Molly eyed me. Her hands slide down from my head to rest on my chest, ready to push me away at a moment's notice. "What's this about, Cal?" she insisted.

Another sigh escaped me before I could stop it. "Veronica works with Steph at the school. I thought if I could get her talking about work she would eventually mention something about Steph that could be useful or insightful for our operation," I explained. "But there's a problem."

She smiled at me now, a twinkle in her eye. "You're phenomenally bad at small talk," she correctly guessed. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, since she'd easily manipulated me into this loving relationship. I wasn't sorry. And neither was she. Rather than confirm that she was right verbally, I bent my neck to press a kiss to her still smiling lips. She parted them immediately, her tongue darting out to wet the seam of my mouth and before I knew what I was doing, I'd lifted onto the counter and was pressing her legs open to get closer to her.

I was just marvelling over how easily she could cause me to lose my control when the kitchen door swung open behind me.

"Oh," the intruder gasped. "Wow. Sorry. I… Wow. That is _hot_. Sorry. Um… I'm just gonna…"

I released Molly's lips, lowering my head as I tried to regain my composure. My breathing was laboured. Molly's too. But that didn't stop her from pushing me back and wriggling off the counter quick as sticks.

"Veronica," she greeted nonchalantly, like we hadn't just been caught making out.

I admired her confidence all over again as I slowly turned to take in the scene. Veronica stood in the middle of the spacious kitchen, looking slightly awkward. My girlfriend had crossed the space to wrap her in a hug.

"It's good to see you," Molly enthused. "How have you been?"

"Good," Veronica responded, glancing around at the cupboards. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just came in for a clean glass. I might have grabbed one and slipped back out if it weren't for the fact that you were blocking the cupboard I needed."

Molly made a throw away gesture. "Don't worry," she mentioned. "I can make out with Cal anytime. In fact, I'm glad you interrupted when you did, otherwise we might have ended up in a more compromising situation." She sent a glance at me over her shoulder and the pair shared a giggle. I refrained from rolling my eyes and joined them in the middle of the room. "So how's life? Still a slave to a bunch of children?"

"And their petulant teachers," Veronica confirmed with a laugh. "Things are getting crazy. Flu season, you know?"

Molly nodded knowingly, despite the fact that she worked in a call centre and how next to no contact with real people on a daily basis. "Snotty noses," she said with a shudder. "Gross. If there's one thing I can't handle, it's kids with snot streaming out of their nose."

"I know, right?" Veronica responded. "It's horrible. Like, there's a box of tissues right beside your head. Blow your dang nose already."

"But you seem to have avoided the dreaded lurgy so far," Molly pointed out. "That's impressive."

Veronica laughed. "I'm doing fine," she agreed. "But I'm a bit concerned for a couple of other ladies in the office. I'm not sure they know the secrets to avoiding the dreaded lurgy."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"They're just lagging, that's all," Veronica shrugged. "I don't think they took my Echinacea suggestion."

Molly made a thoughtful sound, casting me a look I couldn't quite interpret. "What school do you work at again?" she asked curiously. When Veronica replied, Molly's brows furrowed in thought, staring at me once again. I couldn't tell what she was up to. "Isn't that the same school that woman you used to work with works at now?" she asked me.

_Ohhhh. _That's_ what she was doing_. God, I love her. "Stephanie?" I asked. "It does sound familiar."

"Stephanie Plum?" Veronica questioned. We both nodded. "Yeah, she works with me. I've kinda taken her under my wing, showing her the ropes and what not. Not that she listened to a word I said about flu season preparation, it appears."

"She sick?"

Veronica shrugged. "Not yet, but it's only a matter of time," she informed me. "She's been more run down than I've ever seen her, the last couple of weeks. It's only a matter of time before the germs catch up with her."

Molly made soft murmuring sound while she twisted her hair over one shoulder. "So you and Stephanie are friends then?" she enquired, effortlessly keeping the conversation on the topic we wanted it on without raising the suspicions of our unknowing informant. I admired her all the more. My own methods of information gathering tended more towards the fist to gut route. It's hard to be subtle when people are put off by your forehead tattoo.

"Is anyone really Steph's friend?" Veronica countered. And to me, that one simple statement seemed to speak volumes. I would have counted myself as Steph's friend. Everyone at Rangeman, sorry, RCM Security, had. Except, now she'd pretty much started denying our very existence. It was worrying, especially after she'd endured such a life altering tragedy. It made me sick to the stomach some days. "I've been working with her for a couple of months now and all I know about her is that she's learning to bake, she shops on Fridays after work and she has a very conservative dress sense. You're one of those Range-guys, right?"

I nodded. "I work for RCM Security, previously known as Rangeman, yes."

"Is she on some kind of undercover assignment?" Veronica asked. "Cos she doesn't really seem like the Bombshell Bounty Hunter I read about in the papers. I understand she's lost her true love, but she doesn't seem as… I don't know. I guess I just didn't expect her to be like she is. It's an act right?"

I didn't reply for a long time. Just stood their bearing the brunt of the two women's gazes. How was I supposed to inform this lovely woman who obviously had her own concerns for Stephanie, that we were pretty sure she wasn't handling the death of her fiancé at all? Then again, perhaps if I was honest with Veronica, she'd step up a little more and help us make sure she got through this. Even if Steph continued to refuse RCM's help, we could at least ensure she had support. And in a way, I guess that's what we'd been managing to do with Mary Lou and the Plums. We'd spun it as an information gathering operation, but really, if the only thing we achieved was Steph allowing her family and friends in a little more, we were making tremendous progress.

"She's not on assignment," Molly said when I took too long to open my mouth. "She's just depressed. The guys have tried to get her help, but she's avoiding them like the plague. There's only so much they can do from the distance Steph is forcing between them."

"Oh! That's terrible!" Veronica exclaimed. "She shouldn't be alone at a time like this! If there is anything I can do, just let me know."

Molly gave a slow, understanding nod and wrapped her arm around my back, leaning into my side like she needed my support. "If you could just keep an eye on her and let us know how she's going, that would be a real load off our minds," she requested. And just like that, Molly had achieved in ten minutes what I'd been attempting to get done for a few weeks. There's definitely something to be said for 'burg connections and social skills.

_Who guessed that Veronica was the informant?_


	14. Chapter 14

_Twelve books into my 52 book challenge for the year and I got the random urge to write this chapter which I actually formulated like a month ago a least. I hope it's okay._

**Chapter 14**

Steph's POV

I'd had a lot of practice over the last few months at keeping my mind blank. Through sheer force of will I'd managed to not think about all the things that plagued me in my sleep and lurked in the darkest recesses of my mind when I was awake. They were always there in the periphery, but I was very good at ignoring them now. Denying them. The whole process had become second nature, diligently thinking of other things so as not to allow the opportunity for the dark, depressing thoughts to enter my mind. For some reason, though, it wasn't working today. It seemed the more I tried to focus on the task at hand – planning out the next part of my day in my head – the more my thoughts drifted back to my front door and that envelope slipping through the gap at the bottom.

At first I was angry that he was once again attempting to establish contact despite the many times I'd informed him that I was done with Rangeman and his men, that I just wanted to move on and live my life away from all the reminders of the past. His very presence on my little block of land felt like stab in the gut. And then there was the fact that he had been mere feet from me, standing on the porch with nothing but a slab of wood separating us.

I saw the envelope appear and heard the footsteps retreating; it was like a small victory when I realised who it was. He was finally getting the message that I needed this space to survive. Now he just needed to let his men know the same and I might actually be able to move on with my life. But at the same time it was like some small part of my heart, already broken away and floating freely in my chest cavity with no connection to the rest of me, had been taken away. I never knew that one small action could be at once so relieving and saddening. I'd wanted them to leave me alone so desperately, but now that it had apparently finally happened I felt like an even bigger part of me was missing.

I didn't know what to do about that, or if I even wanted to do anything about it, so I pushed it from my mind and continued with the day I had planned. Errands. And lots of them.

Heading to the hardware store across town for paint supplies to redo m bedroom - which was currently a horrible shade of yellow that I was sick of looking at – my carefully distracted thoughts were pulled again and again to the two envelopes occupying the sideboard drawer in my entrance way (which could also use a coat of paint, now that I thought of it). Today's was unusually rigid, hard and heavy. It was clearly more than just a note. And it had been hand delivered with no postal markings or even Rangeman security approval stamps. Just my name scrawled messily on the front. I could only assume that it came directly from Tanks office to my door without any outside interference.

The same could not be said for the other, which was covered in addresses, postal markings, Rangeman security stamps and a whole lot more. But it too had been hand delivered, or it would have had even more markings.

The reminder of that envelope's existence made me think of Ranger and all that he'd meant to me. Still meant to me even now. Though I tried to bury the thoughts, like I always did to avoid the agony and longing they brought with them, it was impossible today. My emotions were too raw. My being too sleep deprived. I had no choice but to let them play out in my head, like a photo reel of every significant moment I'd had with my love.

To hear Ranger tell the tale of our relationship, we'd been destined to be together from the start. And this was from a man who did not believe in fate.

Six months after we first met, Ranger was called 'into the wind' for a number of weeks. I hadn't really concerned myself with the occurrence at the time – apart from spending countless hours forming ridiculous theories about what he could possibly be doing - because we weren't an item. Ranger and the Bombshell Bounty Hunter was not a thing. In fact, I knew barely anything about him other than the fact that he was simultaneously scary, and sexy, as hell. But according to the Man of Mystery himself, a significant event in the progression of our relationship occurred while he was away.

He'd been in Paris following a lead on a guy for another guy (his explanation, not mine) and wound up in a high end shopping district. While waiting for the guy to emerge from the tailor's he was supposedly holed up in across the street, Ranger had entered a jewellers and was absently browsing while keeping one eye on the shop window for any sign of the guy. His eyes caught on a white gold band with a deep blue sapphire set into it, and immediately thought of me.

_That was the end of that_, Ranger had told me. Money as exchanged and the ring was shipped off to Rangeman to wait.

Six years later – just five months after that first date at Amicci Milano – Ranger got down on one knee and presented the ring to me as an offering, and a question, and a promise. A promise that he'd always be there for me.

He broke his promise eleven months later. Seven and a half months before we were supposed to be joined in holy matrimony. I would never be known as Mrs. Manoso. Because he abandoned me.

Thinking of the wedding that never happened brought me full circle back to the envelope that had been placed in my mailbox by Rangeman personnel a week and a half ago. I knew what was probably inside it, but had not yet been able to bring myself to open it. If I did, it would be like confirming Ranger's death all over again. Confirming that the life we'd planned together would never happen.

I couldn't do that.

_Two Weeks Ago_

_I sat cross legged on the small rug I'd laid out in the shade of the majestic weeping willow that over shadowed the Manoso plot. It was serene, well maintained and exactly the kind of place Ranger would have wanted for himself. The hush that surrounded me now, sitting beside my fiancé's grave, reminded me so much of the man himself that I almost couldn't bear it. It brought to mind all those silent car trips when he'd gently brushed my hands away from the radio buttons. The moments he'd entered the Rangeman control room and all activity had halted as the men turned their attention to the boss, his tension palpable, even across the room. The times he'd crept into my room in the middle of the night to watch me watching him while I pretended to sleep, both not daring to move or make a sound lest we break the spell. The long minutes he'd stared into my eyes, communicating all the love and desire he'd felt for me with nothing more than a look._

_It felt like it felt when I was with him. But also not._

_I was acutely aware of my solitude. The longing that filled my body at a cellular level would never be fulfilled again. That day I felt it more strongly than most, because it was the day before the day I was supposed to marry him. The man that rested six feet below the grass I sat on._

_I stared at the white marble headstone that his parents had picked out, on top of which I had laid our wedding rings along with my engagement ring. The rings we would never wear and the ring I wore for only a few months all lined up neatly, like soldiers in formation. I'd taken engagement ring off around the same time I moved and changed jobs, convinced that a clean slate, with no reminders of Ranger would help me move on. I'd locked the three rings in the safe in my bedroom with the one shirt of Ranger's I'd allowed myself to bring. And there they had stayed until Monday morning when I turned the page in my diary and saw all the scrawled appointments I'd had to cancel. Hair, nails, caterers, restaurants. _

_I'd immediately called work to tell them that I would not be in all week and retrieved the rings and shirt from the safe. This was a time I was meant to be spending with my soon-to-be husband in preparation of our special day. I would allow myself this week to grieve anew and feel close to Ranger once more._

_And that is how I came to be here in the cemetery on the morning of the day before my would-be wedding day. I'd just taken a match to the candle that had been left by the stone reminder of Ranger's existence in the world when my phone began ringing, obnoxiously loud in the silent garden. Digging through my bag, I pulled it out and answered it before I could earn the glares of other mourners nearby._

_"Hello?" I answered._

_"Good morning, Ms. Plum," an annoyingly chipper voice replied. "I'm calling from Luxury Spas. Your fiancé has organised a spa day for you in preparation of your wedding this weekend, however, it appears you've had a change of address that we were not informed of. We have a limousine at your previous residence ready to pick you up. If you could just give us your new address we'll send it right over and get your day of pampering started."_

_It took me a moment to understand what she was saying. And a few seconds more to comprehend the implications, by which time she'd finished speaking and was waiting for my reply. My laboured breathing prevented such an occurrence, however and I simply hung up._

_The phone was still in my hands as I stared bleary eyes at Rangers name, engraved so elegantly into the marble, almost as hard as his chest had been. I didn't understand how this could have happened, how Tank could have missed something like this when tending to all the wedding bookings that Ranger had made. Unless he'd meant it a surprise. A present that only he knew about._

_Canned ringing emitted from the device in my grasp before I could think to turn it off._

_"Hello," I said flatly this time, my eyes trained on the headstone as if I could somehow communicate with Ranger through it._

_"Ms. Plum," the woman began. "I do apologise, it seems we were cut off. As I was saying, we just need your current address and we can have the limo to your door in no time."_

_"He's dead," I whispered. _

_There was a short pause from the woman before she asked, "What was that, sorry?"_

_I cleared my voice and tried again in a louder voice. "My fiancé is d-ead. He died."_

_Long seconds ticked by and I almost felt sorry for the woman. This can't have been a normal reaction. "Oh," she finally uttered, weakly. "I-I am so sorry. I didn't know… He… Mr. Manoso booked this spa day for you months ago and-."_

_I interrupted her, surprised by how flat my tone sounded. "He _died_ months ago."_

_Another silence followed my statement during which I thought I could hear the clacking of computer keys over the rushing in my ears. "He… It's… um… The day is fully paid for," the woman explained, flustered now. "I-if you'd like to give your address I can have the limo at your door in no time at all. You can still enjoy this last gift from your fi-."_

_"No!" I barked, tears suddenly streaming down my face. "No. No. I can't. I'm sorry. He's gone. No. No." I thumb found the hung up button on the screen of its own accord, but I was still chanting through my tears. "No. No. Nononono."_

A loud car horn nearby brought my attention back to present day. I was stopped at a stop sign, my cheeks wet from the crying I hadn't realised I'd been doing and a line of three cars were banked up behind me. How long had I been stationary? I had no idea. Taking a moment to get my bearings, I realised I was just a street away from my destination. I sent an apologetic wave to the angry motorists behind me and made my way into the parking lot, turning off the engine and settling my forehead against the steering wheel to calm down with slow deep breaths.

It did not last long, however, as an explosion of sound erupted from directly in front of me and smoke began billowing from under the hood. I scrambled out of the car, dragging my handbag with me and sprinted away. Common sense said it could just be an engine fault. Nothing to worry about. But past experience told me to get the hell out of dodge before it exploded. Which it did. When I was just five car spaces away. I dove between the nearest cars for protection as a wave of heat and sound passed over me.

Minutes passed before I managed to pull myself to my feet an stagger further away through the lot. I was dazed. Vaguely confused. I thought I'd gotten past this part of my life.

Sirens blared and emergency vehicles swept into the lot as I took a seat in front of the hardware store, too shocked to do anything more. People rushed about trying to contain the blaze, the people. I just sat there. Staring at the orange flames. Alone. And then there was a presence beside me. I lifted my gaze, simultaneously expecting and knowing it wouldn't be Ranger. The disappointment when I met the man's gaze had me blubbering and burying my face in his shirt. I couldn't deal with the world right now. I couldn't deal with Ranger's arms not being there to support me and make sure I was okay. I just couldn't.

"It's okay," he whispered, one hand on my head, the other wrapped around my shoulders. But they weren't Ranger's hands. "It'll be okay."

_Who's come to comfort Steph? _


	15. Chapter 15

_Do you ever get so engrossed in something that you lose track of time? That's exactly what happened to me today. I woke up at eight (my sleep in day, usually I'm at work by seven) and started writing WHILE eating breakfast. Managed to pause briefly to consume lunch. Went straight back to it and then realised AS I WAS FINISHING THE CHAPTER that I should have been leaving the house at that exact time to get to work... um... whoops...? Don't worry. I managed to get to work on time, but it did mean you all had to wait an extra nine hours for this chapter to be uploaded. _

**Chapter 15**

Bobby's POV

I looked up from the x-ray of Manny's wrist, to glance at the cast on the hand itself. It didn't seem to be quite the same shape as last time I saw it, what with the obvious, jaw shaped dent near the knuckles. He'd been warned to go easy on the limb after he'd fractured it three weeks ago, but clearly, yesterday's skip had tested the limits of his control just a bit too much. He was concerned about the extra pain he'd been plagued with overnight, so this morning had taken himself off to the hospital for x-rays in order to see if anything had shifted with the blow. I was thankful he'd thought to do it himself. Others would have brushed it off as over exertion and kept on going like nothing happened. I suppose, in light of the events of the last year, some guys were becoming more vigilant in regards to their injuries. No one wanted to be the second amputee of the company.

"It looks fine," I informed Manny, setting the x-ray aside and making a couple of notes in his file. "If it's still worrying you on Monday, I'd get a specialist to take a look at it at the hospital. But everything still looks to be in the right place." I glanced up from the file to meet his eyes. "Do I have to recommend you be put on desk duty to avoid further injury, or can you self-monitor your anger issues?"

"I'll be fine," Manny assured me, although the amount of times I'd heard that from any number of the employees here had me doubting his words. I'd give him one more chance, though, since he was usually pretty good at not aggravating his injuries.

"Right," I said, closing the file with a flourish and gesturing to the door. "You're free to go, then."

Manny had just slid off the table and taken his first step toward the when both our cell's chimed out the batman theme tune. I stopped dead, staring at my phone where I'd left it on the counter beside me upon entering. It hadn't made that sound in months. Not since before Ranger passed away. The signal was unmistakeable. One of Steph's trackers had been destroyed. Every Rangeman employee would have received this text from the computer that monitored the trackers. It would state which tracker had gone offline and the last transmitted location of said tracker along with a brief outline of the status of the related trackers.

"Car tracker," Manny said softly, relief evident in his tone as he tucked his own phone back into his pocket. "She's at the hardware store. All other trackers still functional. She must not have been in the vehicle."

I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding and opened the text myself as Manny made his way out of my office. This was not the kind Saturday I'd been planning: dealing with aggravated injuries and silently freaking out about disabled trackers. I almost would have preferred refrigerator shopping with my girlfriend like I was supposed to be doing. Now, all I could think about was whether Steph was all right. I knew how much she tended to freak out when she had close calls like this, and with Ranger not in the picture to calm her, someone had to step up and make sure she was handling the situation okay.

Decision made, I locked Manny's file away in the cabinet and made my way to the stairwell, following it down to the parking garage. I burst out the door, keys already in hand, intending to jump in my SUV and drive straight to the hardware store where Steph was probably having a breakdown. What I encountered had me skidding to a halt. Lester and Cal were both paused in the middle of the garage, keys in hands, glaring at the closed gate and the man who stood before it.

Tank.

"Nobody's going anywhere," Tank announced firmly, meeting my gaze with a stern look I hadn't seen directed at me in years. Not since basic training.

I set my shoulders, determined. "She could be injured," I stated. "I should go check on her."

Tank shook his head. "Paramedics are already on their way," he informed me, like that was any consolation. Any Rangeman – ugh, RCM Security – employee knew that Steph despised paramedics and ambulances, and hospitals. Our best bet at getting her to agree to being checked over was for me to head over there and check her myself.

"She's not going to let paramedics anywhere near her," I reminded him.

"We need to make sure she's alright!" Lester added, clearly losing his shit. His usually perfectly shaped hair was standing on end, showing that the stress of the situation had led him to dig his hands through the locks. His left hand had a white knuckled grip on his cell phone and if I listened closely, I could probably hear the quiet cracking of the plastic caving under pressure.

Tank stared each of us in the eye speaking slowly and deliberately. "Stephanie Plum has requested that we leave her be," he reminded us all. "And although every instinct in my body is screaming at me to go to her, just like all of you, it's time we respected her wishes."

"But we took an oath to protect her!" Cal yelled.

"She's not in a good frame of mind to be dealing with this kind of even on her own," I added more calmly, knowing that showing Tank that I was freaking out as much as Steph probably was, was not the way to convince him to let me out of the building.

"Steering clear of Stephanie _is_ protecting her," Tank explained, though I have to admit, it made no sense in any part of my brain.

Lester threw his poor, tortured phone at the ground, ignoring it as it shatter into a thousand pieces. "That doesn't make sense!" he roared. "She needs us!"

Tank put his one hand into his pocket, as if this was a normal, calm conversation, and three well trained men were not currently thinking of all the ways they could disable him and escape the building while he lay unconscious and hogtied in the corner. "Our presence has been distressing her," he said. "She's still grieving and whether we like it or not, constantly turning up and trying to get her to come back to us isn't helping. We need to let her work through this at her own pace."

"That sounds like a Greg analysis," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes.

"It is," he replied. "I had a lengthy chat with Greg last night and that's his professional opinion."

Cal let out a frustrated noise, his keys jangling where they hung from his shaking fist. "But she needs us," he pointed out, adding more quietly, "_WE_ need_ HER."_

I had to agree with his assessment. Life had become rather chaotic since Steph had withdrawn to our lives. The number of injuries was rising and everyone was tense and angry. But Tank was also right. If we kept trying to force her to come back to us, she would just keep pulling away from us. The more we pushed, the more likely she was to leave all together.

"We have to wait until she's ready," Tank explained, almost gently.

"Can we at least do a drive by?" Lester asked. "Make a visual confirmation that she's alive?"

Tank's glare returned. "No."

Defiantly, Cal pulled his phone from his pocket, already tapping the screen as he retorted, "I'll just get one of the patrols to swing by then."

In the next instant, Tank had his gun aimed at Cal, and the phone was clattering to the ground to rest amongst the remains of Lester's. "I'm serious," Tank growled. "No contact. We just have to have faith that what she says she needs will actually help."

"And if it doesn't" I asked, taking up the role of devil's advocate as I so often found myself doing these days. "What if she realises she doesn't need us at all? She's obviously survived the last eight months with steadily decreasing dependence on us."

Lester had latched onto an entirely different stream of thought, though. "What if she thinks we've given up on her and decides its better that way? What if she decides the whole world is better without her? What if she decides she would rather be dead than continue living in a world without Ranger? Tank, you know this is a real risk. She's always so quick to blame herself. Someone needs to be with her now."

"She's not alone," Tank assured us, not lowering the gun. "Detective Morelli is with her."

The garage erupted, outrage palpable. You would have thought the space was filled with fifty men for all the noise we created.

"You called _the cop_?" Cal was practically screaming.

"_How is that supposed to be comforting?" _Lester was demanding. "_Morelli has never been a good influence on her."_

I let out a growl of frustration.

"This is bullshit," Lester added.

"Ranger would be turning in his grave if he knew," Cal announced.

And it was that statement that cut through my anger. Tank was right. We couldn't turn up at the scene, and add annoyance at our presence to whatever Steph was feeling right now. And at least _someone_ was with her. Morelli was aware of her situation. And as much as I hated to admit it, he was trained to deal with this kind of situation. Since his return to Trenton, despite Ranger and Steph's relationship status being common knowledge, he has still been called to the site of every car explosion in town, whether it was Steph's car or not. "Ranger and Morelli have worked amicably in the past," I pointed out, causing Lester and Cal to shut up. "There's no reason we can't continue to utilise him." To Tank I asked, "Have you requested information?"

A single nod. "I sent a text to Morelli as soon as the alert came through. Now you all need to back off and return to your stations."

"I was done for the day," I pointed out, knowing it would never work. "I only came in to check on Manny's wrist."

"You'll have to stay in the building until Morelli informs me that the scene is cleared," Tank responded, almost apologetically, just as the gate behind him began to rise. Slowly, he lowered his gun to his side, turning to face the black SUV that pulled into the driveway. From my position by the elevators I could just make out Hal in the driver's seat through the tinted windscreen and beside him, a female. I didn't have time to try to identify her before she stuck her head out the window and the attempt was pointless. I knew exactly who it was. Her light brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail with her bangs left out in the front to hang in her face. Her golden skin glowed in the shaft of sunlight that made its way in from the street, highlighting her perfect complexion and high cheek bones. Diana. The Miami branch manager.

"This is the most unusual formation for a welcoming committee I've ever seen," she said, her tone as matter of fact as ever as she took in the scene. "Is the gun really necessary, Pierre?"

"It's not a welcoming committee," Tank responded, his jaw clenched tight so that he had to grit the words out in little more than a growl.

A mock hurt expression crossed her face, though the corners of her eyes crinkled with amusement. "And here I thought you were all so excited to see me that you'd taken to violent threats in order to be the first one to greet me," she laughed, bringing to mind all the times she'd defeated me on the mats. She was a cruel woman. She had no problem aiming for the manhood and laughing while beat it to a pulp. And that was when she was in a _good_ mood.

"We didn't even know you were coming," Tank pointed out, tucking his gun back into the waistband of his cargos. "What happened to the tech guy you were sending?"

A grin wiped away the pained expression in an instant. "Oh. He's here too." Turning her head to address someone inside the vehicle she called, "Halfred, say hello."

"Halfred?" Lester repeated, curiously. "What kind of self-respecting man would allow themselves to be called Halfred?"

I had to admit, I was curious as well, since it wasn't exactly the type of name you heard around RCM Security. We didn't have to wait long to find out, though, as the back window slid down and a scrawny head and shoulders emerged. His hair was long by military standards, but still did not quite reach his ears, he was clean shaven, and perched on his nose was a pair of glasses. Overall, he looked about eighteen and I had to wonder about Diana's hiring methods.

After a moment or two Diana was fed up with waiting. "Are you all going to stand there all day, or are you going to let us in? The sooner we settle in the sooner Halfred can start running diagnostics."

Halfred's brow furrowed. "But its Saturday," he pointed out.

Diana hissed something at him that I couldn't quite catch, and with a blush blooming on his cheeks, Halfred retreated back inside the SUV. I had to assume he was a new recruit, or he would have known not to speak out against a boss like Diana.

"We'll meet in conference two in twenty minutes," Tank announced, crossing the garage out of the way of the vehicle, herding us with him. "Hopefully by then we'll have an update on the situation at the hardware store."

"Better make it half an hour," Diana responded. "Halfred's diagnostics sometimes take a while to set up." There was a wicked grin on her face, and I suddenly got the feeling that she was not talking about system updates at all.

_I'm so excited to finally be able to introduce Halfred (and Diana) to you! OMG, you have no idea. These two were brought into creation so long ago and OH! I did a drawing of them! I'll post a link in my bio if you're curious as to what they look like in my mind!_


	16. Chapter 16

_I don't want to alarm anyone, but what you see here on your screen is the third chapter update in as many days. Don't make any loud noises or sudden movements just in case you scare it away._

**Chapter 16**

Steph's POV

"It's okay," Joe whispered, one hand on my head, the other wrapped around my shoulders. But they weren't Ranger's hands. "It'll be okay." A wracking sob burbled up through my chest, emerging in the most unattractive sound I'd ever heard. I couldn't help it. Ranger was supposed to be here, to hold me close and make sure I had no injuries. "Oh Steph," Joe murmured. "Hey now, it's just a little car explosion. Nothing you can't handle."

I thought about replying, but every time I managed to form a response, I recalled all those times when Ranger had simply held me. Silent. Powerful. Reassuring. Joe was not Ranger. No one could ever provide that level comfort for me again. Every time I remembered this fact, it was like watching him die all over again. All the panic and devastation. I didn't know how I was ever going to get back to normal without him.

"Are you injured?" he asked, trying to lean back so he could look me in the eye. "Can we let the paramedics have a quick check?" He attempted to extricate himself from my grasps but I wasn't ready. I didn't like paramedics at the best of times, let alone when I was having a meltdown. I dug my fingers into his t-shirt, refusing to let go. "Come on Cupcake," he soothed. "You don't _really_ want me to check you out, do you? We both know my methods are a bit crude."

"I don't want to go to the hospital," I wheezed, catching my breath in a lull between crying jags.

"Okay," he said slowly. "We will do anything in our power to keep you out of hospital"

I coughed, nodding, and finally sitting back so the paramedic could do what they needed to do. They poked and prodded and asked me questions. They had a quiet conversation with Joe, during which he did a lot of head shaking and sad eyes. The paramedic seemed to give some stern instructions before they left and Joe returned to my side.

"They weren't happy," he informed me quietly as he sat once more. "They your blood pressure is high and they seem to think you're in shock. I managed to convince them you didn't need to go with them by promising you wouldn't be left alone."

"Thanks," I murmured.

"I'm surprised a man in black hasn't turned up to drag you away already," Joe added, looking around like he expected one of the Merry Men to be standing right behind his shoulder.

"I've removed all my trackers," I explained with a shrug.

"Even from the car?"

"Pretty sure." I nodded, glancing over to the smouldering heap that was my car.

He looked doubtful, but didn't comment further on the tracker issue. "Have you called Tank to let him know?"

The emotional agony of a few minutes ago surged up, twisted into something more like annoyance, as I recalled this morning and the envelope. "I don't need Tank," I stated flatly, crossing my arms protectively over myself.

"Bobby, then?" Joe asked, confusion and concern creasing his brow. "He's the medic right? I can give him a call for you?"

"I'm fine."

He was silent for a long moment, staring at me while I kept my gaze locked on the toe of my floral yellow ballet flats. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, caught the ticking of his jaw in the corner of my sight. After a while he threw up his hands in exasperation. "I'll just have to take you home myself, then," he announced. "Are you ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

My head whipped around of it's own accord. "What?"

"I promised the paramedics you wouldn't be left alone right now," he reminded me. "If you're not gonna call one of your guys, I'll have to take responsibility for you myself." He stood and retrieved his keys from his pocket, holding them up. "Come on."

I blinked several times. This was not the Joe I knew. All I could think of to say was, "I need paint supplies."

Now it was his turn to blink. "What?"

"Paint supplies," I repeated, digging through my handbag for the notepad where I'd written my list and scribbled out the appropriate math to work out exactly how much paint I needed. "My bedroom is a butt-ugly yellow colour," I explained. "I'm sick of it. I'm going to paint it. I need paint supplies." I showed him the page with the list and the math as proof that I wasn't just making things up on the spot.

Being the good detective he is, he took the notes and inspected them closely. "Butt-ugly yellow, you say?" he asked, eyeing me over the top of the page. "Doesn't sound like something Ranger would have allowed in his building. I've always envisioned all the walls being a really, really dark grey."

My chest tightened at the mention of Ranger, the vice double gripped so soon after my melt down. "I'm not living in the Rangeman building anymore," I informed him, avoiding his gaze as I got to my feet and started toward the hardware store entrance. "I've got my own place."

*0*

We spent an hour picking out an appropriate paint colour and then assembling all the necessary equipment for sanding, taping, priming, painting etc with the help of a pimple-faced shop assistant. Once it was all paid for Morelli pushed the trolley across the parking lot, past the black scorch marks where my car used to be, to his beat up truck – the same one he'd had for years – and started loading everything in the back. We climbed into the cab, and were on our way out of the lot before he finally asked where we were headed.

I gave him instructions to get to my house, diligently ignoring the curious glances he sent my way when he realised I was now residing within the bounds of the burg. The one place I always said I never wanted to live. I'd hated the way everyone gossiped and judged. I'd spent years making my big plans to leave the burg at the earliest opportunity. I'd hated the way everyone gossiped and judged. When I married Dickie Orr, I moved in with him in his apartment across town. That had inevitably failed and I moved to an apartment fresh from the seventies that was a stone's throw from the burg boundary. I'd then zigged a little further away when I moved in with Ranger, only to zag straight back to the land of horrors when my whole world fell apart.

The engine was still running when I jumped out of the passenger seat and Morelli was still glued to his seat, fists gripping the steering wheel as he stared at the house. I could tell he was formulating some kind of remark in his head, something about me being back in the burg, or white picket fences, or cars exploding, so I made my way to the back of the truck and started unloading the pain cans onto the sidewalk. I was just reaching for the bag that held the paint brushes when he stuck his head out the window and turned to stare back at me, confusion clear in his expression.

"You're sure this is your house?" he asked.

I gave him a half smile. "Positive," I assured him.

His gaze travelled to the front porch and back, giving me a full body once over. "Who are you and what have you done with Stephanie Plum?"

Rolling my eyes, I retrieved brand new tarp and closed tail.

"I'm serious," he said, swinging the car door wide open and hopping down onto the pavement. "What the hell are you doing with a white picket fence in the burg, wearing housewife dresses and ballet flats, and…" he gestured to my hair with a dumbfound expression. "Is that a wig? I didn't even know your hair could do that."

With a sigh, I shook my head and fished my keys out of my handbag, paying no mind to his criticisms. "Would it help if I used my key to get in the front door?" I asked.

He eyed me suspiciously. "I'll need to inspect it to make sure it's not some kind of high tech, lock picking device in disguise," he said.

"Really?" I said.

"Really." He held out his hand for my keys, making a hurry up motion when I obviously took too long to pass them over. Rolling my eyes once more, I dropped them into his palm and started carting my purchases up the path to my front porch. Morelli was right behind me, setting down the rest of the paint when I turned around to do a second trip. He returned the keys to my hand with a raised eye brow. "Seems legit," he confirmed, adding after a moment, "If they work in the door."

"You're still an ass," I pointed out. I made a show of unlocking the door without incident and punching in the code to turn the alarm off, before grabbing the bag of brushes and rollers and leading the way inside. "Close the door behind you," I requested on my way up the stairs, assuming he would follow once all the supplies were inside. He didn't. I dumped the bag against the wall in the hall outside my bedroom and returned to the top of the stairs to find Morelli peering closely at the security panel by the front door. Which was still wide open. "Close the door, Joe," I instructed, suddenly worried that the neighbours would see him and get the wrong idea.

_Oh dear God. I was turning into my mother, _I thought with a cringe.

"That isn't a Rangeman system," Morelli helpfully pointed out as he pulled the door closed and hailed the paint cans up to me.

"I know," I replied, pointing to a spot on the floor where he could stack the cans.

"That's odd."

"If you say so."

Morelli crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at me. He looked like he was about to accuse me of something when his cell phone chirped on his belt. Whipping it out, he quickly read the text, his brow furrowing further with each passing second. The expression had cleared by the time he returned his eyes to my face, though. "I should go call work and let them know I'm not available for the rest of the day," he informed me. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

"You don't need to stay with me," I told him firmly for the umpteenth time. "I'm perfectly capable of pottering about the house on my own. I promise I'm not going to keel over just because my car blew up for the billionth time in my life."

He opened his mouth to argue, but only ended up closing it again with a shake of the head and heading back down the stairs. "I'll be right back," he said. "Maybe you could scrounge up a beer or two for when I get back."

I watched him exit the house and close the door behind him before sagging against the wall. It was hard work pretending to be perfectly fine to someone who knew me so well. Which is exactly the reason I'd stopped hanging out with the Merry Men, and Connie and Lula, and my family, and Mary Lou, and anyone else from my previous existence. It felt like the more I assured them I was okay, that I was actually doing a lot better in life than I ever had, the more they saw through the façade to the pain that dwelled just below the surface.

Joe had known me since I was six years old. We'd played choo choo in his dad's shed. He'd laughed at me when I was convinced I could fly by jumping off the garage roof. He'd probably watched me go through all the awkward early adolescence stages, including pimples and braces and gangly limbs, and had still seduced me behind the tasty pastry counter when I was sixteen. He knew better than most that I'd never professed nor desired to be the perfect burg woman. And yet here I was in comely dresses with every hair on my head in its proper place, planning home redecorations, and baking cookies. Of course he saw through my act.

I just hoped he didn't try to get to the heart of what was wrong.

Morelli returned from his out of town job – turns out it was actually out of _state_ – just two months before the day Ranger died, and with how news travels in Trenton, he'd have to have his head buried in six feet of concrete to not know about the event. And I knew the burg was still whispering about how tragic my existence was behind my back. Surely he would know not to ask that kind of question. Surely.

I allowed myself a moment more to wallow in the fact that he was most likely going to want to at least attempt to get me to talk about my feelings, just like everyone else did these days, before pushing off the wall and making my way down to the kitchen to see what I had in the way of beverages that would be a suitable substitute for the beer I knew I didn't have.

Two glasses were filled and on their way to the table when I heard the door reopen and Joe's clomping footsteps enter the hall.

"Marco," he called, after a short pause during which I imagined him checking the upstairs landing and the nearest doorway for my presence.

"Polo," I replied, poking my head through the archway at the opposite end of the hall. He smiled and crossed the distance in four strides, instantly relieving me of the glass I held out to him. "It's peach iced tea," I informed him when he raised an eyebrow at the slice of lemon floating on top. "I made it myself."

"What happened to the beer?" he asked, taking a tentative sip, clearly wary as always of my lack of skills in the kitchen department.

"I don't have any," I replied with a shrug.

"Don't… what?" He shook his head and waved to the small table in the corner. "That's it, sit down. We need to talk."

"Morelli, don't."

"What do you mean, 'don't'?" he demanded, sloshing tea from his glass has he attempted Italian hand gestures with his hands full. "This isn't you. This isn't-."

"Yes, it is," I cut him off. "This is me. This is my life now. If you have anything to say about it you can walk out that door right now."

He stared at me a moment, contemplating, before reminding me, "I promised the paramedics I wouldn't leave you alone."

I nodded. "While I was coming down from the shock of the blast," I added. "I'm calmed. I'm fine. I'm going to finish my drink, change into some sweats and start prepping the bedroom for its new 'Shell Haven' colour and I'm going to do it without any comments or criticisms from you about my life choices and without any mention of the people and events that I can see scrolling through your mind right now. If you can't handle keeping your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself you can just leave."

To my utter surprise, rather than argue, or rant, or rave, or even walk out, he downed the iced tea, set the glass on the counter and made a lip-zipping motion with one hand before plunging them both into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. One eyebrow was raised in a challenge, testing to see if I'd actually meant to give him a choice, or if I'd intended him to be gone from the house no matter what he chose.

I would be lying if I said I didn't want him to leave. He was the first person from my past life to have entered the house, with the exception of my dad on the day he helped me move all my stuff in. In fact, I think that was a complete list of the people who have been inside my house besides me. Dad and Morelli. No wonder it felt unnatural to have another being breathing the same air as me in her.

Letting out a slow breath, I set my still full glass beside Morelli's empty one and allowed my shoulders to sag. "I suppose the polite thing to do would be to give you a tour before putting you to work," I sighed.

_-sigh of relief- Feels good to write a chapter from Steph's POV where she's not completely dying inside for the entire chapter. What do you think?_


	17. Chapter 17

_Because I love you all, I allowed this chapter to go a little longer. Also, because this has to last you until like Monday or Tuesday, because I'll be competing all weekend. _

**Chapter 17**

Lester's POV

"Where's your uniform?" I asked Halfred, or _Freddie_ as Greg had informed me the Dianaman crew called him, as I lowered myself into a nearby chair. I had some time to kill before Detective Joseph Morelli was due to turn up and give us a run-down of his weekend with Stephanie. Every time I thought of him spending time with Steph I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until the life left his eyes. When I thought of him setting foot inside the building I had the urge to subject him to a full cavity search to ensure he wasn't smuggling any surveillance equipment in inside himself. To cut a long and gory day dream short, I needed a distraction from his impending arrival so that I didn't do something to disrupt the flow of information he'd been providing for the last thirty-six hours.

Diana's 'tech guy' was that distraction.

Freddie, on his knees in front of Cal's desk with a severed power cable in one hand, a bundle of wires in the other and piece of yellow electrical tape clinging to his pale blue checked shirt, looked up from his task, a quizzical look on his face. I'd spent minimal time in his presence since he arrived with Diana on Saturday, preferring to spend my time either trying to get updates on Steph or beating the shit out of people and punching bags in the gym, but what little exposure I had had made it clear that he was not your average, run of the mill, Rangeman employee.

Err… RCM Employee. I don' think I'll ever get used to that.

"Your uniform," I repeated, gesturing to the god-awful shirt. "Where is it? If you're working you should be in uniform."

"I _am_ in uniform," Freddie responded, setting the bundle of wires on the desk.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're an RCM Security Employee, aren't you?" I clarified. Diana had referred to him as Halfred, her tech guy, but it had not been explicitly mentioned that he was an employee or a contract worker or what, and I was too lazy to look into it myself.

"Correct," he nodded, using the strip of yellow tape to seal up the end of the power cord before placing it and the device it was attached to in a box I hadn't noticed before. He adjusted his glasses and peered up at me, curiosity clear in his expression. "This is my uniform," he explained, pointing to the company logo embroidered on the front of the shirt.

"The official Rangeman uniform is a black v-neck tee with black embroidery," I pointed out, gesturing to my own tight shirt as an example.

Freddie nodded, rising to his full height and running a hand through his artfully dishevelled hair. I would have killed for my hair to behave like that. When I attempted the messy look I appeared more hot mess than hot, even when I was clean shaven. "I was given a special exemption," he explained, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest and leaning against the desk, clearly settling in to our chat.

"Because you're fucking the boss?" I asked. It was crass even by my standards. I had no way of confirming that he was, in fact, sleeping with Diana. It was just a suspicion I had. I wasn't sure why Diana would even entertain the prospect of bedding a man – and I use the term loosely in this case, I'd seen garden weeds that were manlier than Freddie – like him. She usually went for brawn. The bigger and tougher the better. I almost felt sorry for this guy if he _was_ sleeping with her. I'd heard the horror stories of temper. She was capable of a level of violence almost on par with Tank on a good day.

"Because I was kicked in the ribs one too many times," he countered calmly.

I didn't follow, and I'm pretty sure my face showed it.

Freddie pointed to the wires and cords scattered around. "I'm the tech guy," he told me, like I hadn't been informed numerous times over the weekend, but I ignored his blatant show of condescension and allowed him to continue. "I spend about fifty percent of my time crawling in the dark space under desks. Wearing full black, as per the standard uniform, I was constantly being kicked and trod upon. I disappeared into the shadows and the guys didn't know I was there. Eventually, our medic Stephen got sick of sending me for x-rays every other week and suggested I wear something other than black. Bill agreed. And now I only wear the black when it's absolutely necessary. Which is pretty much never."

"What do you mean never?" I asked, curious as to how a man working in this company could get away with never wearing black. It was required when on stake outs and during night shifts in the field. We wore black so that we DID blend in with our surroundings. No one was likely to notice a guy dressed all in black in a shady corner of town. _Everyone_ was likely to notice a nerd in a blue plaid and glasses hanging around on Stark Street at one in the morning.

With a shrug, Freddie said, "I don't do all that much field work." In the pause that followed he picked up the bundle of wire and started fiddling with the raw ends, winding two ends together then detaching them again a couple of times. He glanced up without lifting his head, peering at me over the top of his glasses. "Because I'm fucking the boss," he added with a sly grin.

"Riiiight," came Greg's sniggering voice from just outside the cubicle. "_You're_ fucking _her_."

I shook my head, wondering how often Freddie was teased like this back in Miami. It seemed like the kind of thing we would make a running gag of here in Trenton. I'd seen the way he stared at Diana when she wasn't paying attention to him, at once terrified and awed. Clearly there were some feelings there that would never be returned. Diana wasn't that kind of woman.

"She seriously lets you off the hook?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm a liability," he said, getting back down on his knees. "Can't run, can't defend myself, bullet magnet…" he ticked off the list of short comings on his fingers and I was dumbfounded. If Ranger had given a guy a trial run and found that much wrong with him, he would have been back out the door faster than you can say Fugitive Apprehension Failure. "… lack of adequate first aid knowledge, I bleed like a stuck pig at the first mention of a knife, easy to kidnap…" he continued, oblivious to my gape.

"How is it you're still employed here?" I interrupted.

"I'm the tech guy," he repeated, like that was a reason to hire someone who was useless in every aspect of the job description. "We've made some serious time saving strides in the tech department down as RCM Miami," he added by way of explanation as he ducked under the desk once more.

"Dianaman," I said absently, eyebrows drawn together in thought.

"Huh?" his voice drifted out to me over clunking and shuffling.

"It's a new shorthand I've developed for referring to the different branches of the company. Miami branch is called Dianaman, cos Diana is the manager. Plus it pays homage to our forefather, Ranger Manoso, and the name he gave his bouncy baby company when he first opened shop. Rangeman." I sighed. "RCM Security just doesn't have the same ring to it."

"Why did we change it, then?"

"Legal issues, something to do with Ranger owning the rights to use the name and since he wasn't the company owner anymore we had to change the name." I wasn't too clear on the details. Tank was the one who dealt with it all, I just submitted a bunch of suggestions for the new name. All of which he'd turned down.

"So wait," Freddie, said, leaning out from under the desk to peer up at me through dust covered glasses. "Does that mean Boston would be called _Hugh-man_?"

I nodded, a smiling at pun.

"Hugh's gonna love that," Freddie murmured ducking back out of sight.

I chuckled, just thinking of the company's most anal manager. While Tank and Diana – and Ranger, rest his sole – ruled with an iron fist, Hugh was more of a by the books kind of guy. Everything needed to be done the way they were set out in the manual. When things went wrong he was in his office crunching numbers and re-writing policies more than calling men to the mats and whooping ass. Boston was gonna flip their lid when they caught wind of their branch nickname.

*0*

Morelli sat in one of the cushy conference room chairs, appearing ill at ease. His eyes kept darting to the door as if he expected the bogey man might burst through it at any given moment. I didn't blame him. I had it on good authority that the Tankman building could be quite intimidating if you hadn't been properly prepared for what to expect. None of us were too fussed on whether he was prepared or not, and obviously, Steph didn't know to give him a heads up, since all this was happening behind her back.

"Your security is tighter than prison," he mentioned, glancing to the door once more.

"We don't like surprises," Tank replied curtly, adjusting the utility belt he woe despite the fact that he hadn't been in the field in at least a few weeks.

"I don't like having my side arm confiscated" Morelli returned, folding his arms over his chest, clearly trying not to be daunted.

"You'll get it back when you leave," Tank assured him. "We're not criminals."

We all chose to ignore the dubious look Morelli gave Tank as Diana stepped through the doorway, pulling it closed behind her and slipping silently into a chair positioned in the corner of the room. I had no idea why she was there, since the Steph situation was none of her concern, nor was Morelli's input into it. No one would ever dare ask her to leave though. Not even Tank, because even he was scared of Diana.

"We'll start with the events of midday Saturday," Tank began, shuffling a few papers in the file in front of him. "Our records show that the tracking device placed in Steph's vehicle went offline at eleven fifty six am. Upon double checking that all other trackers were still fully functional, I sent a text message to Detective Joseph Morelli requesting a status update at the earliest convenience."

I had no idea why he was sounding so official with his statement, probably to show Morelli that we did things properly here, rather than the arm wrestling matches we usually used to decide who had to work monitors while the rest of us went out for end of week drinks.

"A text I did not notice until hours later when I received a message from my colleague," Morelli explained, matching Tank's tone. "I was already en route to the location when the text came through and being that I was rushing, did not hear the chime. I did make a quick call at the time I saw the text under the guise of checking in with work, but at the time could not afford more as Stephanie's situation was touchy."

I leaned my elbows on the table, resting my chin in my hand as I eyed the detective suspiciously. "Touchy how?"

"She'd just let us into the house and I noticed that her security is not provided by your capable services," he explained. "I mentioned it was odd, and was about to ask further when I received the text that brought my attention to your request."

"Wait what?" Cal interrupted, leaning forward. "She let you inside?"

"Why is that a big deal?" Morelli's brow furrowed as he looked around the table. "Haven't you all been to her house?"

Bobby shook his head. "She didn't even let us help her move," he said. "It's like she's been trying to keep her life with us – with Ranger – completely separate from the life she appears to be trying to build away from everything she has ever known."

The smug look that crossed his face when he realised that he had achieved something in a couple of hours that a team of men had not managed over the course of a few months. He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, that stupid half smile tipping up the corner of mouth. "Huh," he uttered.

A quiet noise emitted from the corner of the room, reminding us of Diana's presence, but she said nothing. I glanced to Tank, curious to see how he was taking the complacency he was being showed. He lifted a brow in Diana's direction, ignoring my own look, and addressed the cop again. "Just get on with what happened over the weekend," he requested in that way he had that suggested it was not at all a request.

"There's not much to say," Joe shrugged. "I tried to talk to her about serious issues I've caught wind of in the last few months, but she gave me an ultimatum. Keep my mouth shut or get out. I figured, given your request, and the issues I mentioned, it was probably beneficial to hang around and see if I picked up on anything rather than say my piece, anger her and get out."

"Probably," I agreed, still chomping at the bit that he'd entered Steph's sanctuary.

"So anyway, I helped prep her bedroom for being repainted on Saturday, moving furniture and covering things with plastic," he continued, ignoring my comment entirely. "Sunday I went back and helped her sand the walls. I would have stayed to help paint, but I was called in to work."

At this point, Diana piped up from her corner. "This is all very fascinating, Detective," she began. "But do you have any information on the car explosion? Anything useful that could assist our movement forward from this point?"

"Who are you?" Morelli asked, pulling a face.

Diana's hand twitched toward the gun on her belt, an action that Morelli clearly picked up on, because he quickly acted as if he hadn't asked and averted his attention to pulling a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "This is the preliminary forensics assessment," he explained, passing it into Tank's robot hand. "As far as they can tell, the explosion was caused by an engine fault or some kind. Most likely from being poorly maintained. It's possible that foreign bodies had somehow made their way into the system and caused a fiery malfunction."

"So there's no chance that this could have been caused by foul play?" Cal enquired.

"The chance is extremely slim, even taking Steph's history into account," he confirmed, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

"That concludes this meeting," Tank announced, standing and gathering his papers. "I ask that you keep us informed of any future interactions with Stephanie."

"Wait a sec," Morelli said. "What about your side of the information sharing?"

Tank looked him straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering and stated. "Stephanie has been avoiding our presence for a week and a half, maybe two weeks now," he stated. "She has made her preference that we leave her be abundantly clear. And so we are honouring her request. RCM Security employees will not be following her, nor approaching her in any way, shape or form for the foreseeable future. As such, we welcome any information you would see fit to share, if she does, indeed, allow you to continue to interact with her."

"However doubtful that occurrence may be," I added.

"Right," Morelli nodded, appearing to still be processing Tank's words. He waited until Tank had nodded and left, Diana close behind, before standing from the table and taking a single step toward the door. He eyed each of us in turn before declaring, "I'd like my gun back now."

_Thoughts and insights are always welcome_


	18. Chapter 18

_Happy Belated Easter, everyone. I hope you all had a grand time filled with lots of rest and chocolate. I myself spent the entire Easter weekend competing in the state wide choral Eisteddfod (Welsh singing competition, but don't worry, I didn't have to sing in Welsh). Our hard work paid off! My choir received two first, three seconds, two highly commendeds and didn't place in three sections. Much better than last year when we placed in only one or two sections. I wrote the majority of this chapter while in the Eisteddfod hall listening to the other choirs - the old pencil and paper method - and then had to wait two days before I was capable of focusing on the computer screen in order to type it up, BUT it's finally here!_

**Chapter 18**

Steph's POV

Sunday night, with my bedroom freshly painted and in the process of airing out, I collapsed in a dead heap on the couch falling asleep almost instantly. My slumber was blissfully devoid of dreams for the first time in two weeks and, as a result, when I awoke I felt more refreshed than had in a long time, even though the couch was not design for sleeping on and I now had kink in my spine. I made my resolve right then and there to try to keep up the positive start to my week. If I could make it to Friday without a meltdown or a blow up, I would be happy.

By quarter to eight I'd powered through my morning routine and was just tightening the pale pink ribbon I'd tied in my hair when my cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID before answering.

"Good Morning, Joe," I greeted, turning my head from side to side to make sure the bow wasn't sticking out at an odd angle at the back of my head.

"Apparently," he agreed. "You're sounding a lot cheerier than yesterday."

Walking from the bathroom across the hall to the bedroom to choos a pair of flats to go with today's outfit, I said, "It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do for your mood."

Joe snorted. "You've been inhaling the paint fumes, haven't you?" he accused lightly. I just chuckled. "The reason I'm calling is I figured you might have a transportation issue this morning, so I was wondering if you needed a lift to work."

I slipped on a pair of pale pink flats to match my ribbon and contemplated them a moment before exchanging one for a slightly darker, rose detailed low heel. "You don't have to do that," I told him, kicking off the remaining flat and completing the low heeled pair.

"I'm in your drive way," he responded flatly, the raised eyebrow I knew he'd be sporting almost audible over the line.

I sighed and rolled my eyes at the same time. "A lift would be lovely," I said with forced politeness. "I'll be right out." And with that, I hung up.

When I stepped out the front door a moment later, Morelli was leaning against the bonnet of his truck, arms crossed over his chest and aviator glasses hiding his eyes from the sun and from me. Even with his gaze out of sight, it was hard to miss the grimace that crossed his features when he looked up at me.

"What?" I demanded, hands on hips.

"That's an awful lot of pink," he informed me.

"And?"

Joe shook his head, a bemused expression replacing the disgust as I clomped down the porch steps toward him. "I don't think I've ever seen you in pink before." He thought about it for a while, tracking my progress across the lawn. "Nope. Never. It's quite a confronting sight."

"Good thing I don't care about your opinion," I mentioned flippantly, reefing over the stubborn passenger door and dumping my purse into the footwell. "Or those comments would be ruining my first good morning in weeks."

Morelli's face screwed up again as he turned to round his side of the truck. "If wearing that much pink can be classed as a good morning these days then your standards have dropped significantly."

"No one asked for your opinion," I quipped as we both slid into the cab.

Surprisingly, Joe sent me a grin as he turned the engine over. "You didn't have to," he said. "It's freely given."

I rolled my eyes but refused to comment further, sensing that he would turn this into a big deal if I gave him the opportunity, and I was still determined to have a good week. Sure, I had no car and was relying on his kindness to get me to work this morning – I actually had no idea how I would have gotten there if had he not shown up – but my bedroom was no longer mustard yellow, I'd had a solid eight and a half hours sleep and my hair was sitting so well that I was mentally tracking everything I had done to it in the last twenty-four hours so that I might be able to recreate the results later.

"You'll be happy to know that your car was not bombed," Morelli informed me when we were stopped at a red light half way to the school.

"Oh?" I questioned, surprised. Stunned, really. Of all the times my cars had exploded over the years, I could count on approximately _no_ fingers the amount of times it had not been done intentionally.

"The forensics guys called me personally to let me know," he continued. "They were as shocked as you are now." He glanced over, an expectant look in his eyes. I'm pretty sure he was waiting for me to ask what the cause of the explosion had been if it wasn't a bomb, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Not knowing was killing me, my curiosity burning a hole in my stomach, but I wasn't going to ask. "Come on, Cupcake, ask me what it was."

"I don't need to know," I said firmly, going against every instinct in my body "And don't call me Cupcake."

Morelli shrugged, like it was no big deal and we were silent for the rest of the drive to work. I was rather impressed by my ability to deny the curiosity that had been ruling the majority of my decision making throughout my entire life. It was the biggest show of will power I'd made since the week I'd sworn off sugar. I was so proud of myself, until I recalled that one of the things Ranger had loved most about me was my persistent curiosity.

Thinking of him now brought a familiar lump to my throat, but I promised myself I wouldn't let the new wave of loss overcome me as Morelli pulled into the Principal's parking space. I took a moment to acknowledge my pain, and send all my love to Ranger in his eternal resting place, before giving in to the governing force.

"Why did my car explode?" The words came out in a rush, practically tumbling over each other to escape my mouth.

The smile that spread across Joe's face was so wide I thought, for the first time in my life, that it might actually be possibly to split his head clean in half. "That's the Steph I know," he enthused, killing the engine and turning to face me full on. "Turns out some foreign body got into the engine and caused a malfunction that eventually resulted in the massive fiery display you were subjected to. I asked if there was even the slightest chance that it could have been a deliberate act, but they were fairly certain it was a freak accident."

Relief washed over me as my lungs emptied out. "So I'm not in danger?"

Joe let out a chuckle. "You're only in danger if you continue to neglect car service milestones," he informed me. "The guys at the lab are positive that this could have been avoided if you'd taken it in for a service."

"We can't have it all," I shrugged. "I'm just glad I don't have to keep my eyes peeled for a stalker."

"That's one way of looking at it," he agreed. "I'll call you later to arrange a time to go car shopping."

I had been gathering my bag and checking my make up in the rear view mirror, but at his announcement my head snapped to the side to pay attention to him once more. "I don't need your help buying a car," I said firmly. "I'll just borrow big blue for now."

"No one will respect you if you drive that old thing around," Joe stated.

"Says the man who got stuck in his truck when it rained and the doors decided to seize up," I replied. "If this is your taste in vehicles, I don't need your help."

"This truck is amazing," he defended. "And I'll thank you very much for noticing that in the ten years I've owned it, it has never once exploded."

"Because you have it serviced regularly?" I asked, trying to picture Morelli handing his keys over to a mechanic or dealership. It didn't compute.

"No. Because my father, while a horrible, violent drunk, taught me proper car maintenance."

"Must be handy."

He glanced out the window and his lips quirked. "Reminds me of turning up for dinner at your parents' house," he mused.

Confused, I followed his gaze to the nearest entrance where I found Veronica and Heather peering around the side of pillar toward us, obviously discussing what was going on. "I should go before they get the wrong idea," I sighed. "Heather has already been making suggestive comments about my lack of sleep." Pushing the door open with a practiced shove, I slid out onto the asphalt, leaning in to address Joe one last time before parting ways. "Thanks for the lift," I said. "And for the weekend. I'll find my own way home."

"Talk to you later," Joe assured me, starting up the truck with a rumbling growl.

I waited until he was out of the carpark before heading toward the entrance where the two women were now mysteriously missing from. Shaking my head, I made my way through the corridors to the office, giving myself a mental pep talk on the way. I could deal with whatever they had to say. There was nothing going on between me and Joe. Just one old friend helping out another. They had no jurisdiction over my life. There was nothing they could say to upset me today.

"Morning, Stephanie," Veronica greeted from over by the coffee pot when I entered. "Coffee?"

"No thanks," I replied, setting my bag on my desk. "How was your weekend?"

She glanced to Heather, who was busily hitting keys on her computer. Heather spared a second to return the glance, eyes darting to me before returning to the screen in front of her. She cleared her throat and scratched her nose, but said nothing. Veronica gave a slight eye roll before turning back to me. "Pretty uneventful," she shrugged. "You?"

"Same ol', same ol'," I said. And I wasn't lying. Having my car blown up was pretty much the story of my life. The only out of the ordinary thing that happened was that my mother didn't call to berate me over the incident. I was actually a little concerned about that and thought I should probably call to make sure _she_ was all right at some point today. It would be just my luck if this was the straw that finally broke the camel's back and she'd gone into cardiac arrest at the news that I'd cause yet another vehicle to explode.

There was a long stretch of silence, during which I stowed my purse away and started booting up my computer before Veronica spoke again. "So we couldn't help but notice that you were dropped off by a guy this morning," she stated, none-too-subtly.

"A hot guy," Heather added, not looking up from the screen she was clearly so absorbed in.

"Who was he?" Veronica asked, taking her seat and propping her elbows on the desk to stare at me intently.

I sighed. I had to tread carefully here and squash any suspicions she might have so that rumours didn't start spreading that I was back together with Joe after all these years and my recent tragedy. "That was Detective Joseph Morelli," I explained.

Veronica and Heather exchanged a look.

"The same Joseph Morelli you used to date?" Heather questioned, having abandoned all pretences of typing and gliding across the office on her chair to lean against Veronica's desk. "The one you broke up with in order to be with the mysterious Ranger guy? That Joseph Morelli?"

As per usual, my chest tightened at the mention of my fiancé, but I took a deep breath and pushed the feeling of despair that accompanied it aside so that I could focus on the task at hand. I could handle this. I was going to have a good week. "That's him," I agreed.

"Are you getting back together with him?" Heather asked bluntly. She was starting to remind me of a more sedate version of Lula; never afraid to ask a direct question.

Veronica, apparently offended on my behalf, grabbed out her ruler and moved to start slapping Heather with it, but I held up a hand to stop her. "It's fine," I assured her. "I can understand why someone would think that sort of thing. I know how it looks, especially given my history, _which everyone in this town seems to know about_," I added in a mutter. "But Joe and I are just friends. He helped me out over the weekend when my car exploded and offered me a lift to work this morning since I don't have my own transport."

Heather rolled her eyes. "Riiiight," she drawled. "A man like that just casually offers lifts to ex-girlfriends whose cars explode."

"Isn't Detective Joseph Morelli married?" Veronica asked slowly.

I froze, my fingers dangling in mid-air over the keyboard, my eyes widening, but focussing on nothing. My thoughts were suddenly filled with memories: announcements in the newspaper, whisperings around the Rangeman office, my mother gushing over the new couple at dinner and bemoaning aloud over how her daughter couldn't settle down and stop living in sin. I'd known he was married. Hell, I'm pretty sure he even has a kid. But in the mayhem of the weekend, and the strange comfort that having him around had provided me, it had completely slipped my mind. I had to put a stop to it before the whole Burg caught wind and the rumours travelled back to his wife.

"Yes," I whispered, clenching my fists and dropping them to my lap, but not turning around to face the other women. What was Joe thinking? "He's a married man, but he was only giving me a hand. There's nothing going on between us."

"Are you sure?" Veronica asked. Her tone was gentle.

"Nothing will be happening between us," I said firmly. "I refuse to be that woman." And with that I grabbed my phone and power walked out of the office and down the hall to the bathroom. I called Joe intending to demand to know his intentions and rip him a new one for attempting to be unfaithful to his wife, but all I got was his message bank. "Call me back," I gritted out, before hanging up and thumping my head against the wall. I should have remembered his marital status. I should never have let this happen. I was going to put an end to it as soon as he called back.

**_Oh snap! Did anyone else see that coming? _**


	19. Chapter 19

_Phew! *wipes brow* Just finished the last shift of vacation care (the period in which I work non-stop and the kids are full on and I just want to lie down and pass out at the end of the day) and somehow, managed to write this chapter. _

_Shreek is very excited for this chapter to be out in the public because it contains a conversation we put together MONTHS ago. Let me know what you think_

**Chapter 19**

Tank's POV

"Tell me about the situation with Ms Plum," Diana requested, perched on the edge of the sofa at one end of my office, her gaze locked on the khaki clad rear end that stuck out from under my desk. She'd barely taken her eyes off Halfred since they arrived at my door twenty minutes ago. Halfred was here to update the wiring of my computer and its connection to the overriding system. That much was obvious and acceptable. But as far as I could tell, Diana's only purpose for being in my office was to perv on Halfred. It was disturbing to watch and made me feel extremely uncomfortable. "Is she so revered and powerful that you're unable to drag her back here and lock her in the Tower?"

I blinked at her. She knew as well as anyone else what Stephanie had meant to Ranger and by extension, the entire of the Trenton branch of the company. She'd witnessed the changes in Ranger, had even advised him on a few occasions. Surely she couldn't be serious about locking her away. I shook my head. "It's a penthouse, not a tower," I reminded her.

"But you _do_ have ability to lock her up there," she pointed out. "Rapunzel style."

"Insensitive." Halfred's single murmured word drifted across the space as he emerged from the darkness to check something on the tablet he'd placed on my desk.

To my surprise, Diana sighed, shuffling back on the cushion a little and glanced to me. "Sorry," she mentioned with uncharacteristic sincerity. "I know this is a difficult time for you."

I nodded, unsure of what else to do. Diana was a balls to the walls kind of person. She didn't take orders from anyone – not even Ranger when he was alive – and rarely listened to suggestions. The fact that one, almost whispered word from the nervous nerd at the other end of the room could make her pull her horns in was astounding. I stared at Halfred for a long moment, and then Diana, wanting to ask what their deal was, but I knew better than to open a discussion about her personal life in front of others, even if I suspected the man was an integral part of said personal life.

Her entire demeanour changed in a way I had never seen before when she regarded him. I had no doubt that they were involved in some way. Halfred's nervousness and Diana's insistence on keeping an eye on him was enough to attest to that. What remained a mystery, though was the extent of her feeling. I knew first-hand how possessive and demanding Diana could be of the men in her life and it was mind boggling to think that she was inflicting that kind of torture on such an obviously weak willed man. He certainly wasn't her usual type.

"You know Stephanie has been an essential part of the Trenton office since the day Ranger met her at that café," I pointed out, lifting a piece of paper off the coffee table with my prosthetic hand and attempting a crisp, straight fold. "We function a lot more smoothly when she's around. She's always been quick to offer her assistance in any capacity and we grew used to the idea that she was one of us. Part of the family, if you will."

Diana scoffed. "You've gone soft."

I raised an eyebrow at her, glancing once more to Halfred. "Maybe," I agreed. "But I know what works for my men just as well as you do for yours, and not having Stephanie around is not ideal."

Tracking Halfred's movements across the room, she enquired, "Why isn't she around anymore?"

I attempted another fold of the paper, but my efforts were fumbling. Learning to be left handed was one thing. Being newly left handed and trying to finesse a pieces of paper into the shape of a triangle using a prosthetic I was barely used to was frustrating. "I don't know," I admitted. "She started pulling away from us more and more not long after the funeral."

"Grief is a strange emotion," Diana informed me like I didn't already know. "It affects everyone differently. While some people cleave to their loved ones, others drift away, lost in their own world. Perhaps the reminder of Ranger's existence everywhere in the building was too much for her to handle."

I murmured a sound of agreement, thinking of Steph's slow departure from the company. She'd seemed okay, her actions showing that she was moving on. At least that's what I'd assumed at the time. In retrospect, putting physical distance between herself and everyone she loved when she moved out of the building had only aided in her emotional and social withdrawal. We'd allowed er to take a step back because she said it was what she needed, and we understood that grieving took time, but maybe we let her go too far.

"We should have been more insistent about her meeting Greg," I said. I'm sure a couple of sessions with the company psych, which many of the other men took advantage of when he made a weekend trip up not long after Ranger's death, would have done her mental state justice.

"How long has she been completely out of contact?" Diana asked, ignoring my statement.

"Two weeks?" I guessed. "She stopped taking our calls a while ago, right after Hank was shot, but she would at least talk to us in person if we met up in public."

"Hmm," she hummed, slipping her phone out of some concealed pocket in her skin tight pencil skirt. "Two weeks." She was tapping at the screen, a frown deepening her brow. "Ah ha!" she exclaimed after a minute, holding her phone out to show her discovery.

The screen displayed a week view of her calendar dated around the same time frame as when Steph stopped acknowledging out existence. There were annotations for meetings and appointments and reminders all over the place, but my attention was drawn to the highlighted sections at the end of the week. Each had a red line crossing it out, so I had to really concentrate to read the words.

_Flight to Trenton_, it said on the Friday, along with a time and a link I assumed would take me to the digital boarding ticket. I thought that was odd, since Diana had definitely not been here two weeks ago, and I didn't recall a visit scheduled, but then again, it was crossed out, so the trip had clearly been cancelled. It wasn't until I read the text on Saturday that I understood why:

_Ranger ties the knot._

Two weeks ago was supposed to be Stephanie and Ranger's wedding. No wonder she'd retreated even more. That date would have been engraved in her memory, even if she didn't have it written down somewhere. I hadn't even realised because I'd cancelled the event in my own calendar, which begged the question… "Why did you keep the event after he died?" I asked.

"I didn't," she said, her tone matter of fact. "I cancelled it the same as everyone else." I opened my mouth to point out that it was still showing, but she beat me to my question. "Halfred showed me how to access anything I deleted," she explained. "It's actually quite a useful skill to have. You should get him to teach you." Averting her attention, she called across the room to the tech guy. "Halfred, when you have a moment free, teach Tank to retrieve deleted data."

No reply drifted out from under the desk, just the sound of tape being pulled from a roll and a quiet muttering. I glanced to Diana, noting the presence of the usual snake eyes she got when she was ignored.

"Halfred!" Her bark was followed immediately by the unmistakable thud of cranium meeting solid mahogany.

"Y-yes?" Halfred stammered, peeking out from his cave. I immediately felt sorry for him. His position in Diana's life was not ideal and he obviously didn't have the mettle withstand it.

"Teach Tank to retrieve lost data," she commanded.

Halfred's eyes darted from the terrifying woman, to me, to the wires in his hand and back to Diana. "Right now?" he squeaked.

Diana sighed. "No. Of course not right now. When you're done."

"Of course," he nodded quickly. "As you wish."

She smiled almost sweetly at him and he ducked back into the darkness, a blush blooming on his cheeks.

"It appears Ms. Plum's new reluctance to acknowledge you oafs is related to the happiest day of her life that never happened," Diana explained, returning her attention to me and speaking as if she hadn't just petrified the man I thought was possibly her boyfriend, or toy boy. "Who was in charge of cancelling all of Ranger's arrangements?"

"I was."

"Are you certain you cancelled them all?"

I glared at her. "Positive."

"Only fools are positive, Pierre," she murmured, keeping her voice low to ensure that Halfred did not overhear her use of my real name. The woman was ballsy, but not that ballsy. "Now I'm no expert on love or emotion – "

"Preaching to the choir," I commented.

She ignored my comment, continuing as if I hadn't uttered a word. "-but a call from an organisation or service seeking confirmation on some wedding detail certainly seems like the sort of thing that could cause a new bout of grief in a person who clearly hadn't been coping that well to begin with."

"I cancelled everything," I assured her.

"Ranger was a complicated and secretive man," she reminded me unnecessarily. "No one would blame you if there was something you missed because he kept it concealed."

I shook my head. "Sincerity is not your strong suit, Diana, but you're right."

She grinned indulgently, the way she used to when I made certain requests of her. "Of course I am," she agreed. "You should triple check everything," she suggested. "Get your guys to delve into Ranger's phone records, buried files, everything. What you find might surprise you."

"There are probably things in there that no one is ever meant to see," I pointed out, thinking of all the things I had buried that no one should ever see.

"You need Stephanie back," Diana countered, standing and straightening her skirt. "I'm sure you'll go to any lengths to bring her back. AS far as I can see, the first step is understanding why she left in the first place. Check out Ranger's files, talk with your guys. You'll figure it out."

Her eyes were locked on the ass of Halfred's khaki pants as she crossed the room towards him. She'd just perched on the edge of the desk when he emerged from the darkness once more, announcing his need to retrieve something I didn't quite catch. As soon as the door had closed behind him I was on my feet, eliminating the distance between us in an instant. I needed to get to the bottom of this dynamic and I needed to figure it out now. She was acting the way she did when she was dating a guy, but Halfred was not the kind of guy she usually went for.

"You dumped me for not being rough enough," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and wincing when a metal joint pinched my skin. "But you're dating him?"

"Dating is such a harsh word," Diana responded, grimacing at me.

I shook my head. Diana made Ranger look like marriage material, even before he settled down for Stephanie. She wrote the book on love 'em and leave 'em. She'd push a guy to his limit and then decide that limit wasn't enough and kicked them to the curb. "What do you call it then?" I asked.

"He's…" she took a moment to try to find the right word, gesturing vaguely in front of her. "… mine."

I gave her a sceptical look, knowing she'd always thought of her men as possessions for the term of their relationship, but there was something else going on here. "Does that make you his?"

After a long pause, during which she stared straight at the toe of my boot, she uttered, "Some nights I allow it."

"Seriously," I stated, still not believing her. "You could bench press him."

Slowly, Diana raised her head to look at me, a smirk spreading across her face.

"Oh, my G-… You have, haven't you? You bench pressed your boyfriend!"

Diana blanched at the b-word just as I knew she would. She didn't like labels. Labels made things real, and Diana definitely did not do real. "He's _not_ my boyfriend," she snapped, straightening from the desk. "And for your information, he doesn't have the core strength to plank long enough for me to bench press him."

But she'd tried. Of course she'd tried. He was the scrawniest guy she'd ever been with. Ever. Large and muscled was her M.O. Halfred was the complete opposite. And yet, the evidence was right there. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She listened to him. I couldn't be sure with such a limited exposure to their interactions, but I think this had the potential to be the best thing to ever happen to Diana. I'd have to pull Halfred aside later, try get a bead on him.

_So what do we think of Diana now? And Halfred? And Tank?_


	20. Chapter 20

_A bit of a short chapter today. Also, you might have noticed that I changed my username. I've had this account since I was sixteen and have kept the same username for that nine year period, but I feel like it's time to move on. So I did. CyborgWithGreatHair better suits my current personality and I feel much better looking at it on the screen than I did looking at Svendances in the last couple of years. I hope this change doesn't cause too much confusion._

**Chapter 20**

Steph's POV

It was just after six in the evening when Joe finally called me back. I was sitting at my kitchen table, eating the slightly crunchy fried rice I'd made, browsing outfit ideas on Pinterest and compiling a list of chores I needed to do around the house over the next week. The fork was halfway to my mouth and my pen was scribbling a note to wash the curtains and dust the blinds when my phone started blaring out its obnoxious ringtone, causing the rice to spill all over the keyboard as I flinched.

"Shit," I muttered, dropping the fork to my plate as I snatched the phone with my other hand, attempting to pick the tiny grains off the computer even as I answered. "Hello?"

"Steph, is everything alright?" Joe sounded concerned.

"Fine," I sighed. "I just dropped rice on my keyboard."

There was a pause before he spoke again, his words coming slowly. He was obviously choosing them carefully. "That explains your tone right now," he said. "But what about this voicemail I have from this morning? You sounded almost angry. What happened?"

Reminded of the revelation Veronica and Heather prompted this morning, I felt a sudden return of the tension I'd felt. "You're married," I snapped.

"And?" he asked, drawing out the word.

"And I can't do this!" I announced, fury bubbling in my gut that he could be so uncaring about this.

"Steph," Joe said. "Take a deep breath and calm down. I don't understand what you're talking about. Why don't you back it up a little and tell me what's so wrong about me being married?"

Abandoning the rice, I pushed my chair back and began pacing across the kitchen, attempting to calm down. I have to admit, it wasn't working too well, but it felt good to be making bigger movements, allowing the energy that was bottled in my body, out. "I can't be the other woman, Joe," I told him as calmly as I could. "You made a commitment to the woman and if you're not satisfied with her, if you're not happy, if she not fulfilling all your needs you need to let her know. Straying is not the answer. I can't do that do her. I've had it done to me. It doesn't feel good. You need to honour the commitment you made."

There was a long silence. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I think it was safe to say that he wasn't expecting me to turn him down so firmly. I wasn't backing down, though. I'd been hurt and betrayed by my first husband Dickie Orr when I came home to find him rutting with Joyce Barnhardt on our dining room table just a few weeks after our wedding. I know how much marital infidelity can ruin a person. I didn't want Joe to do that to his wife. And I certainly wasn't going to aid in the process if he _did_ decide to.

Finally, Joe found his voice, but his tone confused me. "What?!" he sounded confused, and slightly annoyed.

"I'm not gonna be your mistress," I stated.

"My… Steph, what are you talking about?" Joe demanded. "You're not… I'm not… What?"

I sighed. I'd never thought of Joe as dense, or stupid, but right now, I was starting to get the impression. "Look," I started. "I know we have history, but it was never going to work out. We're not compatible. Clearly you and your wife _are_, since you've made it as far as being husband and wife… and don't you have a kid together? Joe. You need to make this work for yourself. Don't go looking to chase tail and sleep around. You'll just hurt your family. You're a decent guy, act like it."

"Woah," Joe uttered. "Um… I don't know where to start… You… You thought I was trying to get back in your pants?" He let out a half laugh. "You don't even wear pants these days."

"This isn't funny!" I yelled, halting my pacing in the middle of the room. "You're going to ruin your life!"

I could almost hear Joe shaking his head, but he was calm when he replied, any sign of his earlier confusion having vanished. "No," he said. "I'm not. I-."

"Yes, you are!" I interrupted, unable to listen to any malformed excuses he may have. "You-."

Joe wasted no time returning the interrupting favour. His tone was patient and I imagined it was the tone he used when explaining to his child that they couldn't have cake until after dinner. "Steph, listen to me. I mean this in the nicest possible way, but," he paused, letting out a sigh. "I don't want to sleep with you."

"What?" I demanded, preparing myself for another tirade, but he was too quick.

"I'm not cheating on Carol," he explained gently. _Carol, that was her name._

"Then why did you spend the whole weekend with me?" I pointed out. "And then gave me a lift this morning? And offered to take me car shopping? If you're not cheating on Carol why are you spending so much time with me?"

"I'm trying to be a decent friend," Joe said, sounding like he thought I was stupid. "It seemed like you could use one."

All at once it was like the fight just drained from me. My lungs deflated on a relieved sigh and I lowered myself back into the chair I'd abandoned, staring blankly down at the mess of rice. "Oh," I uttered. "But… Does your wife know? What does she think? Surely she's not happy about you hanging out with your ex-girlfriend."

"She knows," Joe assured me. "I told her about our history. And about your situation. She's okay with me helping you out. In fact she's currently standing right in front of me demanding I invite you to dinner later in the week."

"No thank you," I said firmly, shaking my head, despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "It would be awkward and-."

I heard a woman's voice in the background and Joe's muffled voice replying to her, before he uncovered the receiver and spoke to me again. "She's not gonna take no for an answer," he said. The woman's voice drifted through again and Joe laughed. "She's a strong Burg woman and she's willing to blackmail you with your favourite dishes if she has to."

"Oh my God, Joe," I breathed. "Did you marry my mother?"

"What?!" he howled in surprise. "No! Gross! That's a horrible thought! I can't believe you would say something like that!"

"Well, she did threaten to blackmail me with food," I pointed out. "That's a very Helen Plum thing to do."

"It is," he agreed before swiftly changing topics. "So we'll see you Wednesday at six for dinner. You know the place."

I was going to protest again, but he left me no chance, hanging up as soon as he was finished talking. I glared at the phone in my hand for a full minute before typing out a disgruntled text.

_You can't just make demands and hang up like that! It's rude! What if I had plans on Wednesday night? Did you think of that?_

I hit send and set the phone aside, my gaze focusing on the rice still stuck between the keys on my laptop. There was no way I could pick it out with my fingers, even if I used just the tip of my fingernails, so I'd have to find a pair of tweezers or something. I'd just stood to do just that when my phone dinged with an incoming message.

_Do you have plans on Wednesday night? Don't lie._

With a growl, I typed out short reply.

_No, but I don't appreciate you making assumptions like that._

I tucked the phone into the hidden pocket of my dress so I could take it with me on my quest for tweezers. It took no more than a minute – I'd just reached the bathroom upstairs – for his next text to come through.

_You need to get out more. Start with dinner at my house. You can meet my wife and kid and marvel over how domesticated I've become._

My reply was even shorter this time around.

_Fine._

And immediately followed by a final text from Joe.

_Just so you know, I'm currently enduring a lengthy lecture from Carol about phone etiquette. You two will get along great._

I smiled at the thought of a woman who could put Joe in his place and continued into the bathroom to find my tweezers and fix my computer. As I worked at removing the grains from the keys I was able to reflect on the conversation. I was relieved that Joe wasn't cheating, or attempting to cheat on his wife with me. Not only was I not interested in Joe that way anymore, hadn't been for a long time, but I couldn't do to another woman what Joyce – the whore – Barnhardt had done to me.

Joe was just trying to be a friend, because he thought that's what I needed right about now, and I guess it wouldn't hurt to hang out from time to time. Being around him didn't leave me with the same chest ache that being around the Merry Men caused. I missed the Merry Men a great deal, but the toll being around them took far outweighed the joy I got from hanging out with them these days.

**_Phew! I'm glad that's all worked out now. How about you?_**


	21. Chapter 21

_Finally found where I wrote down the conversation I planned for this chapter! (And found the motivation to turn the conversation into something more than a script). _

**Chapter 21**

Cal's POV

"I thought Tank said there was a tip off that the guy would turn up by now," Hal complained, shifting in the passenger seat so that he leaned more on the door, one hand supporting the weight of his over sized head as he stared out at the apartment block across the street. "I haven't been on a stakeout this dead since the Dobrogosz case a few years back when our informant double crossed us."

I tapped the button on the side of my watch to illuminate the display, noting that it was only 2.17am. Our skip supposed to turn up at quarter to one. An hour and a half wasn't that long in stakeout times, but I couldn't help agreeing with him. We usually got at least a little foot traffic to ease the monotony. Tonight the street was absolutely dead – not a soul in sight.

"It's still early," I pointed out with a shrug. "Skip still has another hour before Tank would be willing to even consider throwing in the towel."

Hal huffed. "I've said it before and I'll say it again," he mentioned. "Stake outs suck."

Murmuring my agreement, I turned my attention once more to the world outside the SUV just as the Bluetooth connection crackled and Lester's voice filled the vehicle. "Wanna play a game?" he asked.

I snorted. "Like what?" I asked. "I spy?" Not likely, considering we were above elementary school age, and were also on opposite sides of the house we were keeping an eye on. Lester and Hank had been here even longer than Hal and I, since we scheduled our change overs at alternating intervals so that at least one side of the building was under diligent supervision at all times. Swapping both teams at the same time would provide too much of an opportunity for the skip to slip through the gaps.

"What about Twenty Questions?" Hank suggested.

Hal and I exchanged a look and I shrugged. I didn't mind. Anything was better than sitting here in silence.

"Sure," Hal agreed for us both.

Lester's enthusiasm was almost palpable across the connection. "GREAT! I'll go first," he announced. "Ask away."

"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" I asked leaning my head back against the headrest.

"You're supposed to ask yes or no questions," Hank pointed out.

Hal sat up straighter, glancing at the lightly illuminated display that showed the Bluetooth connection. "You're supposed to let us know outright whether it's a person, place or thing," he countered.

"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" I repeated.

The Bluetooth crackled again and made a sound that might have been a sigh from one of the guys or possibly a car passing them. "Lester, what is it?" Hank asked.

"Okay, hold up," Lester said, sounding confused. "Are we playing person place or thing? Or animal vegetable or mineral?"

"Animal, vegetable or mineral," I said for a third time, at the same time Hal said, "Person, place or thing."

A long silence ensued in both cars. I had no idea what Hank and Lester were doing, but Hal and I were locked in glaring contest to mental decide who was right. I had a feeling we both thought we were correct, though.

"It's a person," Lester announced eventually, prompting us to focus again.

"Are they male?" Hal asked.

"No."

"Is she a celebrity?" I asked.

"Uhh…." Lester hesitated.

"Yes or no?" I reminded him.

"It depends..."

A slight growl escaped me. Lester was quite possibly the most frustrating person when it came to games like these. The amount of times he'd been caught cheating was phenomenal. I was surprised we still agreed to play with him. "Is she a movie star?" I reworded my question.

"Hey!" Hank exclaimed. "It's my turn!"

"He didn't answer my question," I pointed out. "I had to choose a different one."

"You can't do that," he informed me.

"Then what DO you do with they can't answer the question?" I demanded. It had been years since I'd played, but I don't think I'd ever had a problem with someone not being able to answer before.

"The question master loses?" Hal suggested, sounding entirely too speculative for a man who was adamant that the foundation was person, place or thing, rather than animal, vegetable or mineral.

"Nope," Lester piped up after a moment. "I rule that Cal gets his question."

I chimed in immediately before the others could shoot it down. "I second it."

Hank scoffed. "You don't get a vote in the matter, Cal. You're biased."

"I vote we let Cal have his question," Hal said, suddenly on my side. It was hard to say whether he thought me getting my question was a better way of playing, or if he was playing car loyalty – us against them (or as the case may be, us again Hank.)

Hank's grumbling was just audible as Lester set back into the game. "The answer to your question is no."

"Is she a pop star?" Hank asked, far too forcefully.

"No."

"Is she American?"

"Yes."

"Is she-" I started, only to be cut off by Hal slapping a hand to my chest, like physically holding me back would stop me from asking the question on my lips.

"It's still my turn," he informed me before pausing a moment to think. "Is she a child?"

"No," Lester said almost gleefully.

I raised my eyebrow at Hal. "You call that a follow up question?" I asked. "Piss poor, dude. No wonder Ranger never lets you do interrogations by yourself." He looked like he wanted to reply with a couple of choice words, but I didn't give him the chance, instead addressing the Bluetooth once more. "Is she from Trenton?"

"Yes."

"Do we know her?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Has she been in the newspapers?"

"Yes."

"Has she been in the papers recently?"

Lester hesitated again, before requesting, "Define recently."

"You're only supposed to say yes or no!" Hank exclaimed. Something told me he was the kid who sat there with the rule book in front of him when he played monopoly as a child to make sure no one made up new rules. In my opinion the best rules were the ones that were made up while playing, especially in monopoly.

"I need to know what he considers recent in order to answer accurately," Lester pointed out.

Before Hank had the chance to turn this into a full blown argument, or pull up the rules on his phone, I jumped in. "The last month."

"No," Lester said just as quickly.

Hank sounded like he was gritting his teeth when his question sounded through the car speakers. "Is she a politician?"

"No."

"How many questions is that?" Hal asked, his brows furrowed. "I lost track because we keep arguing.

"We wouldn't argue if people would play the game correctly," Hank assured him.

"We're up to ten," Lester announced. "Go Hal."

"Um… Do we know her?"

"Yes."

A sudden spark of inspiration hit me, and I was confident that I knew who the person was Lester was thinking of. Unfortunately, it was still Hal's turn. And he was fairly idiotic. His ability to think critically was seriously flawed. "Does she have a rocking bod?"

Hank's temper flared again before Lester could reply. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded. "You're gonna lose us the game!"

"Uh, Isn't this an every man for himself kind of thing?" I questioned.

Hank huffed. "No, pretty sure we're supposed to work together to figure it out, otherwise why would we ask all our questions out loud? Wouldn't we submit the questions and get answers secretly if it was every man for himself?"

"Either way," Lester interrupted. "The answer is yes."

"Is it Gina down at the strip club?" Hal asked.

"No," Lester said with a laugh.

"Is it Steph?" I asked quickly, I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"YES!" Lester exclaimed.

I crossed my arms over my chest and sent a smug smile in Hal's direction. That was all the celebration I was afforded though, before Lester was delving into the topic of Steph.

"So has anyone heard any information filtering through?" he asked. "Not being able to follow her, or even attempt to engage her is killing me. I gotta get some kind of info soon or I'm gonna go crazy."

"My informant mentioned that she was dropped off to work by Morelli this morning," I explained, scanning the street properly for the first time in a few minutes. It's amazing how you can be staring at something but not really seeing it when your mind was elsewhere. "I guess that's because of her car explosion yesterday. But I would have thought she'd see her parents about borrowing the Buick."

"That does seem odd," Hank agreed. "It's not like she's on bad terms with her family at the moment. Her dinner the other night went smoother than I've ever heard of."

"But why is she suddenly hanging out with Morelli?" Lester asked. "She dumped him for Ranger _ages_ ago."

Hal shook his head, turning his head to glance down the street behind us. "I don't like that she's not coming to us for help, but she needs her space at the moment. If Tank's right, she's probably mourning all over again."

"But we can help her through it, just like we did the first time," Lester implored. "I can't believe she went back to the cop after all this time."

"You're acting like she dumped us," I mentioned.

"She pretty much has," Hank said. "And more solidly than she ever dumped Morelli. At least she still acknowledges his existence."

"I just don't like that she's trying to get through this without us," Hal said. "It makes me feel useless. We've supported her for so long it feels wrong to not have her around, even if she isn't the same person she was nine months ago."

Someone in the other car huffed out a breath, probably Lester, since he was the next to speak. "I want my Steph back," he grumped.

"Our Steph," I corrected.

_Just so you all know, trying to keep track of how many questions were asked while writing was HARD. Let me know what you think. Hopefully I'll be back with more sooner rather than later..._


	22. Chapter 22

_While trying to sort out some stuff for "Sink or Swim" today, I decided to distract myself by writing some more for "Not as Planned". Aaaaand now it's after midnight. Hope it's worth my tiredness on the morrow. :)_

**Chapter 22**

Steph's POV

Wednesday evening arrived all too soon for my liking. I'd been stressing about dinner all week. Who the hell was insane enough to invite their ex-girlfriend to dinner with their wife? Well, the obvious answer was Joseph Morelli, but really! The whole situation just seemed like a bad idea. Just the thought of making small talk made my stomach clench and roll. I was worried I'd say the wrong thing and make Carol hate Joe for something he or we did in the past. I did not want to be responsible for ruining their relationship, especially knowing there was a kid in the picture.

I was stood, wrapped in a silk robe, in front of my closet, the doors flung open and a handful of dresses hanging on display for my consideration. My hair had been washed, dried, moused and braided and I had the basics of make up on, just waiting until I'd make a clothing decision to add the final touches and tie it all together. Joe was supposed to be arriving any minute now to give me a lift, and I was nowhere near ready.

As if I'd summoned the man himself with thoughts, my doorbell rang. I abandoned my struggle, grumbling about punctuality on my way down to let him in.

"Hey, Cupcake," he greeted once I'd turned the alarm off and was pulling the door open. "You ready to- woah." He'd caught sight of my attire. "That is not appropriate for a dinner party."

"I'm not ready yet," I informed him bluntly, stepping to the side to allow him entry. "And this better hadn't be a real dinner party with other people and forced socialisation. It's bad enough that you're forcing me to meet your wife."

Joe grinned, slipping his hands into his back pocket. "Don't worry, it's just you me and Carol. And for your information, _I'm_ not forcing you to meet my wife. _My wife_ is forcing you to meet my wife. I'm just the tool she's using to make it happen."

I scoffed, heading back up the stairs without a second glance. "I can't argue with that," I teased. "You _are_ a tool."

"Hey!" he said, sounding both surprised and slightly offended. "Was that a hint at the feisty Steph I used to know? I was beginning to think you'd killed her, but obviously you just have her tied up in the basement." He was chuckling at his own joke as we reached the bedroom and I returned to my position in front of the five dress options I'd managed to narrow my decision down to. I saw Joe baulk out of the corner of my eye, immediately turning to the dresser that was located behind him and rummaging through the drawers.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, staring aghast as his hands plunged through the materials in the drawer, pulling things out to inspect them before shoving them back in.

"I'm looking for something normal for you to wear," he informed me.

I pointed to the dresses hanging up. "These _are_ normal. I wear them every day."

Morelli grunted, holding up a stretchy, grey top that had a dinosaur holding up two of those mechanical grabber things and the word UNSTOPPABLE printed on it. He glanced over his shoulder at me, then to the dresses, and tossed me the shirt. "This is a start," he said. "Where do you hide your jeans?" He'd already moved to the next drawer down, but closed it almost as soon as it was open when he saw the neat rows of cardigans there. He looked like he was gagging as he turned his head away for a moment.

"I can't meet you wife in this," I said, fisting the shirt and stalking closer to push the bottom drawer shut as he tried to open it. "And you can't just go digging through a woman's dresser like that! What if I had something in there that I didn't want anyone to see?"

Morelli quirked an eyebrow, giving me a lopsided grin. "You mean like a vibrator? Or porn magazines? I thought you liked to keep them closer to the bed. Like in the bedside table."

"Joe," I warned. "Get out."

He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at me. "Not until you agree to wear jeans."

I said nothing, simply mirroring his stance, with the t-shirt hanging out from under my arm.

Joe looked at is watch and grimaced. "We're gonna be late," he said, almost pleadingly. "Just wear the jeans!"

"Fine," I snapped, reefing open the bottom draw and pulling out a pair of jeans. They were navy blue, and skin tight, but I knew for a fact that they didn't have any stains or rips in them, so they were the best choice if I was being forced to wear jeans. I held them up to prove I had them and then pointed to the door as an indication for him to leave so I could dress. As soon as the door closed behind him I slipped out of the robe and pulled the jeans and shirt on, but teamed it with a green cardigan and flats to match. Just to piss him off.

The groan that escaped his throat as I descended the stairs a few minutes later was all I needed to feel like I'd won.

"You're killing me, Steph," he said, brows drawn together over his soft chocolate eyes.

"What?" I asked innocently. "I'm wearing the jeans and shirt like you said!"

Shaking his head once more, he turned and led the way out the door, muttering to himself. I didn't catch every word he said, but years of sitting next to Dad at the dinner table had trained me to pick up on the important words and tone of voice. I head - _damn woman_ \- but also _– at least she's getting her – _so as far as I could tell, he was both frustrated and relieved.

The drive to Morelli's house was short – less than ten minutes – but still long enough for my elation over my victory to wane, replaced by a renewed sense of dread. I didn't really want to do this. It was against the laws of nature. Ex-girlfriends and current wives were never meant to meet. Ever. Especially if the wife insisted on inviting said ex. It was like she was trying to get a bead on me, making sure I understood that Joe was hers now. I thought the best way to show my understanding was to stay as far away from her and Joe as possible, but for some reason, I'd allowed myself to be pulled into this terrifying situation.

Joe pulled into the driveway and we got out, slamming the doors out of habit to make sure they shut properly. By the time we reached the front porch, a woman, whom I could only assume was Joe's wife, was standing in the doorway, holding the screen open with one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It was very domestic, and reminded me all too much of the greeting I always got when I arrived at my parent's house. The difference being that we'd announced out arrival with the thud of doors before she appeared, whereas my mother was always waiting when I turned into the street.

"You're late," she informed Joe, who sent me an '_I told you so_' look as he kicked his shoes off onto the mat by the front door.

I decided to ignore him, extending my hand to Carol, along with the most pleasant smile I could muster. "You must be Carol," I said by way of greeting. "It's nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting me to dinner."

Carol grinned in return. She was wearing a cute, purple, baby doll style dress that came to mid-thigh with a pair of black leggings over top of which was tied a frilly, pink apron. Her feet were bare. Her eyes were brown. Her hair was blonde. Her nose was slightly too big for her face. She was cute, in a bland sort of way. "My pleasure," she assured me. "I made sure to drill Joe for you favourites. Unfortunately, he couldn't pin point a main meal that you particularly like – other than meatball subs – so I made roast chicken, but there's Pineapple Upside Down Cake for dessert."

"If you're a good girl and eat you greens," Joe added with a smirk.

I didn't respond to his dig straight away, still maintaining eye contact with Carol. "That's very thoughtful of you," I thanked her. "Do you mind if I punch your husband in the arm?"

This caused a tinkling giggle to escape her mouth as her face was lit with joy. "Be my guest," she announced. "Now let's get inside before the whole street is talking." She turned back into the house, like she refused to bear witness to the violence I was about to commit, but it didn't stop me from ramming my fist into Joe's arm.

While he was still rubbing his arm and glaring at me, I scooted past him into the front hall to follow his wife to the dining room. Which was set out for eating. It was the most bizarre thing I'd ever seen. Not once, in the three years of on-again, off-again dating, had I ever witnessed this room being used for anything other than poker nights and the occasional work bench, when I needed a space to lay out all the information I had on a skip to try find a connection. But here it was, with a table cloth, plates, cutlery, wine and water glasses. It was _fancy_. And then my eyes were drawn to the pop of colour in the corner. A red highchair. For the baby.

My stomach clenched for reasons unknown and I had to avert my gaze back to the table where Carol was setting down the aforementioned roast chicken. "Sit, sit," she insisted enthusiastically, gesturing to the chair I'd stopped beside. "Joe grab the potatoes and beans, I'll be back in a moment with the wine."

For the first half hour Carol maintained a steady stream of questions directed at me, some of which I was able to answer easily, some which Joe jumped in to save me from and others that had Joe turning an interested eye my way as well. I tried my best to answer the slightly probing enquiries about how I was managing life, but the fact was, all I could here was the suffix 'without Ranger' and thinking about him being gone and having to go it alone while Carol and Joe waded head first into a happy marriage, had my breath caught in my lungs by the lump that formed all too readily in my throat.

She must have noticed the shift in my mood because the next thing I knew she was announcing that it was time for dessert. She stood from the table and took a single step toward the arched doorway that lead to the kitchen before turning back toward me. "Steph, could you give me hand?" she enquired.

It was only because of years of conditioning from my mother that I stood automatically.

"Oh sure," Joe griped with a slight eye roll. "Leave me here all alone."

Carol shook her head and ruffled his eternally messy hair. "You're a big boy, you can handle it." In the kitchen, she directed me to retrieve the ice-cream from the freezer while she began cutting the cake. "I'm actually a little nervous," she admitted, placing the first large piece on a plate and setting aside. "I've never cooked this cake before. I hope its okay."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," I said, though I had not yet completed my simple task of retrieving the ice-cream. I was distracted by the spread of photos held on the fridge door by colourful magnets. Pictures of Joe looking happier than I'd ever seen him. Pictures of Carol looking all dreamy as she stared off at nothing. Pictures of them both with their heads smashed together like teens. And, of course, pictures of the baby. I couldn't recall for the life of me if it was a boy or a girl – I'd been trying to remember all day – and the photos here were no help.

It's hard to tell a baby's gender just by looking at them unless they're wearing distinctly boy or girl clothes. And this baby never was.

"Wheres….?" I started, trailing off when I realised I had no delicate way of framing my question.

"It should be on the top shelf at the- oh." She'd turned around, probably expecting to find me staring blankly at the contents of the freezer, but instead I had my finger on a picture of her son or daughter. "Bailey is with my parent's tonight. They decided we needed some grown up time."

Bailey. Right. Did it _have_ to be a unisex name?

"Listen," she said, taking a step toward me and lowering her voice a little. "I know being here must be all kinds of awkward for you, what with your history with Joe and all, but I just want you know that I don't mind him spending time with you. You're just friends, right?"

"Of course," I agreed, taking a deep breath to steel my nerves as I made a big decision. "I... I'm not interested him in that way. I haven't been for years. Not since -." Another deep breath. "I got together with Ranger." I could feel the heat behind my eyes, threatening to turn into tears and said quickly. "And especially not after… Ranger."

"Oh, Steph!" she exclaimed, handing me a tea towel as the first tear escaped. "I didn't mean it like that! I wasn't trying to warn you or anything. I honestly just wanted to let you know I was alright with it. I know all about your hardships. You don't need to explain yourself to me. Joe just mentioned that you were worried that I wouldn't like him spending time with you, and I thought I'd set the record straight, is all."

I swiped the tea towel under my eyes, annoyed at myself for letting the moisture appear, and handed it back to Carol. "Thanks," I said, with a slight smile. "You'd be surprised how many people just want to get me to talk about my feelings since… ya know."

"I understand completely," she said, nodding slowly. "When I was eighteen, my older brother died as a result of injuries sustained in a bar brawl. For ages everyone tip toed around me and made sympathetic faces, or asked me how I was doing. It was the most infuriating time of my life. Half the time I just wanted to scream at them to shut up. They didn't get that I would talk about it when I was ready."

"How long did that take?" I asked out of morbid curiosity.

"Almost a year," she said easily. "And a lot of therapist visits and support group meetings where I said nothing at all."

"Did you shut yourself off from your friends and family?" I asked.

She thought about it for a moment, tilting her head to the side. "Not really. I hid away for a few weeks, but then I went straight back to school. I just wanted to pretend like everything was normal, and the best way I could think to do that was return to life as normal, even if I was still notably depressed, and I think the fact that I was carrying on sort of gave my friends permission to act like nothing had changed. Which is what I wanted. Ultimately, the last thing I wanted was a great big pity party." She shuddered and reached past me to opened the freezer and grabbed out the ice-cream, setting it on the bench behind her before saying, "But eventually, I started talking about my brother and my feelings again and it all worked out. I just needed time."

I nodded. That was exactly how I felt. I needed time. The only difference was, I couldn't stand to be around the guys. Every time I saw them it was like slicing open a fresh wound. I suppose it was different for Carol. The friends that she hung out with weren't likely to be the same people she hung out with with her brother. Whereas for me, the Merry Men and Rangeman and everything that went along with it were all extensions of Ranger. And that's why I couldn't go back there. That's I needed this space.

"Don't let anyone try to rush you," Carol mentioned, squeezing my upper arm firmly. "You're the only one who can determine when you're ready."

_Let me know what you think of Carol. She got a little away from me, and didn't turn out with the personality I had originally planned, but Joe seems happy enough, right?_


	23. Chapter 23

_So between spending a couple hours at a shopping centre with nothing to do on Friday, and being home sick today (Monday) I apparently managed to write a chapter for this here story... _

**Chapter 23**

Bobby's POV

"So now, while it make take an extra moment or, uhh, two to sign in," Freddie managed to stutter, obviously drawing to the end of his upgrade seminar, "The security benefits in the long um, run will outweigh the lost *cough* seconds of time." IT had been a long and uncomfortable half hour for all parties involved. Not only for Halfred, who appeared to be the worst public speaker in the history of the spoken language – and that was saying something, since I'd had to witness Benny from the Legal Department stutter through a number of speeches in my time – but Diana had decided, about ten minutes in, that it was too boring, and had proceeded to make obscene and suggestive gestures for all, especially Freddie, to see. I was lucky enough to have my laptop to cover up any affects her game was having on me but it was quite clear to every guy in the room that Halfred did not. As his discomfort rose, along with certain parts of his anatomy, so did ours. No one wants to watch another guy getting aroused by the scariest woman alive.

"And honestly," he continued after an awkward pause during which he did some kind of plie, "the Miami office barely even notices *gulp* they're doing the extra step anymore. I'll be on hand for the next three days in case there's any initial – hem – glitches in the system, during which time I'll give your tech guys a more thorough briefing, but thereshouldn'tbeanyissuesokaythankyoubye."

A few moments of utter silence followed Freddies abrupt exit from the limelight. Everyone as still. Then Tank hefted his large frame up from his chair. He had his prosthetic strapped on today – a fairly rare occurrence since he liked to complain that it just got in the way and slowed him down – and adjusted the rolled sleeves of his business shirt as he took 'centre stage'.

"Right," he mumbled, using his prosthetic to slide a sheet of paper aside on the table. "Everyone but the core team is dismissed. I don't want to hear any belly aching about the upgrade, clear?" Naturally, no one said anything, so Tank dismissed them more forcefully. "Get out of my sight."

Once the Lesser men had vacated the room, Lester, Hank, Hal, Cal, Hector, Greg, Diana and I reorganised ourselves so that we were all seated around the table. Halfred, I noticed, was lingering awkwardly behind Diana's chair, clearly unsure what he should do. I was about to suggest he take a seat or get out when Diana suddenly spun around on her chair and dragged him down into her lap. A startled, and decidedly unmanly, screech escaped the man's throat. But he didn't make a move to try to get away from her. Probably a smart decision.

By this point I'd seen enough of Diana and Halfred's interactions to understand that there was definitely something going on behind closed doors. But that didn't mean I knew what to do with their dynamic. Clearly Diana wore the pants in the relationship, enforcing her will on the poor guy the same way she did on all those who had the misfortune of crossing paths with her. But I just couldn't bear watching him _take_ it.

According to Greg, their relationship was common knowledge down in Miami, everyone knew not to mess with Freddie or they'd wake up critically injured or dead. But they didn't act like this. _Correction_: _Diana_ didn't act like this. There were no public displays of possession. The Miami office didn't need it. Trenton was new territory for Freddie, so Diana had to assert her dominance over Freddie and all of us by showing off her prized possession.

Talking about a human being as if they were an inanimate object made my skin crawl, but there was no other way to describe it. Freddie was an object that Diana did not plan on sharing. I needed to get inside Freddie's head and see what was wrong with him. I mean, Diana used to date Tank and, by all accounts, dumped him for being a wuss. How was Halfred even coping?

"It's been a week," Tank started, drawing my attention back away from Freddie, still perched on Diana's lap. "No one has tried to engage Steph. We've realised that she's probably mourning afresh. She's hanging out with the cop. And no progress has been made."

Everyone nodded, acknowledging all the truths he'd just spoken, but it was Greg who spoke up first. "You have made progress," he pointed out, going on to explain when he was met with table full of blank stares. "You're giving her the space she needs to heal in her own way. Let her work through this on her own terms. With any luck she'll realised that she's better off with you all than without you."

"Is that your professional, head shrinker opinion?" Lester asked pointedly, leaning his elbows on the tale. "That she's better off _with _us?"

Greg shook his head. "My professional opinion," he said, and no one missed the two words he left out, "Is that everyone grieves in their own way and at their own pace and we need to allow her to do that."

"Your professional opinion sucks," Hal muttered, prompting a murmured agreement from the surrounding men, myself included. I didn't disagree with Greg, perse, I just didn't like it. I would much rather go all caveman and drag Steph back here by her hair if it meant we could keep an eye on her, but I knew she'd never forgive us for it if we did.

Diana spoke up then, leaning around Freddie to address Hal. "Liking it or not doesn't matter at this point," she informed him sternly. "What _does_ matter is that you show the woman some respect. She's had a hard blow and is trying to cope the only way she knows how. And you all constantly trying to engage her is not only interfering with the process, but making her lose faith in you. If you leave her be, she may come back to you on her own."

Cal scoffed, clearly disagreeing with her less esteemed opinion.

"I didn't say it would be anytime soon," Diana quipped, shifting Halfred to the side as though she were readying for a fight. "Hell, it could take years for her to realise she needs you dimwits. I just said it was _possible._"

"A possibility is all we need," Tank stated, putting an end to the bickering before it could even properly start. Tank was always like that around Diana. Peace keeper. The less he allowed to happen that would upset her, the less chance there was of someone (likely Lester) get a cap busted in his ass. I guess it was a lasting side effect of having been at the mercy of her every whim for a year and half. That, and the slight flinch every time she smiled, like he was afraid of what that smile could do to him. It was enough to ensure I never went there, no matter how compelling an argument anyone made.

"So we continue to do nothing?" Hal asked, shaking his head.

"It's for the best," Greg assured him in that soothing head doctor voice I could never master. I was much better at telling people to man up and take the pain, then again, I dealt with a bunch of cry babies who punched walls too hard every other week, so I guess there was a difference.

I watched as Diana glanced around the table her hand stroking up and down Halfred's back and somehow, I knew she was going to excuse herself. "Well, I hate to cut out of such a riveting pity party," she said, shifting her upper body to press her breasts to Freddie's back, "But Halfred and I need to talk about the work he does under the desk." She dislodged the man in question from her lap and stood, before adding, "And you all need to think a little deeper into figuring out the reason behind Ms. Plum's blatant disregard for your existence."

Silence followed her thinly veiled instruction until the moment she'd stepped over the threshold, Freddie on her heels. Lester, as usual, was the first to open his big, fat trap. "Da-yamn," he whistled. "I would totally tap that, but there ain't no way I'm touching Tank's sloppy seconds."

Cal's head snapped around at that statement, a look of confusion clouding his features. "Sloppy seconds?" he asked.

Lester answered with a shit-eating grin. "Tank and Diana used to be honey-bunnies.

I kept forgetting that not everyone knew about Tank and Diana's misadventures. For one, Cal wasn't even part of the company when it happened. And for another, not even all the people who _were_ around were aware of their relationship status at the time. It was all very hush-hush. I couldn't be entirely sure, since I never got official confirmation, but it's entirely possible that the breakdown of their relationship, coupled with the fact that Ranger ranked Tank above Diana in almost all things, was the reason for Diana pushing Ranger for the position of branch manager when we initially expanded to Miami.

It made sense that Ranger would put Diana in charge, given her history, but the fact that she was so desperate for the job had raised my suspicions. It was like she needed to be away from Tank, and also prove that she was better than him at, at the very least, one thing: running an entire section of the business. Because, yes, Tank could make do for a few weeks, even a couple of months if he had to, but back then anything more and the place would go to hell in a hand basket. Most of the paperwork was shuffled off to legal or accounting or shoved in a file for when Ranger eventually returned. Diana had pulled Trenton out of a tight spot a time or two over the years, even when Ranger _was_ in town, and she never hesitated to hold that over us, and especially Tank.

Now, with Ranger out of the picture permanently, Tank and Diana had had to learn to work more closely than they had since the days before they were intimate. It was strange seeing them side by side, almost working as one, but I guess they both knew a thing or two about separating work from the rest of their lives. Which raised the question, once more, as to what the hell Diana was doing flaunting Halfred around like he was a rare gem she'd recently purchased?

"Pull the other one," Cal said, disbelief clear in his tone as he glanced from Lester, to Tank, to the door where the woman had just disappeared.

"I kid you not," Lester assured him in the most authoritative tone he'd ever used. "Tank used to trail behind her the same way Freddie does now, awaiting orders. Only it was more pathetic, because, my _God_, have you ever seen Tank's attempt at puppy dog eyes?" This statement was almost entirely false. On the one hand Tank and Diana would never have been able to keep their relationship a secret if Tank had acted that way. And on the other, his puppy dog eyes _were_ terrible.

Tank, who's presence we'd all but forgotten up until this point – easy to do when he's sitting very still and silent like he was – growled. "I may be missing a limb," he seethed, leaning over the table to better inflict fear on Lester. "But I can still clean your clock without ever breaking a sweat." With the threat still hanging in the air, he turned on his heels and strode from the room.

"He still has a thing for her," Lester whispered knowingly.

_*insert author's note here...* Seriously, guys, my thoughts have run out for tonight - (They probably ran out my nose...)_


	24. Chapter 24

_Another sick day, another chapter... Maybe I should be sick more often? I was surprised at how quickly this chapter wrote itself. It only took three episodes of Dance Moms. (Yes, I watch Dance Moms while I write sometimes)._

**Chapter 24**

Steph's POV

"So," Joe said, as we stepped onto the sidewalk out front of my house. We'd just gotten home from car shopping. I was now the owner of a brand new Mercedes-Benz E-Class Sedan which I could pick up in two days' time. I'd dipped into the money Ranger had left for me to get it and while I hadn't wanted to do so, I knew he would have approved of the purchase, especially since I'd allowed Joe to talk me into the extra safety features. It would be a relief when I finally had the car so I could stop relying on others to get me to work and back. Joe had been a great friend, driving me to work every morning and making sure I made it home in the evening, but I needed my independence back and soon. "Why are you avoiding Ranger's men?"

My head snapped around. For some reason, I thought he was about to ask how I felt about having just bought my first _new_-new car. His question caught me off guard, for sure, but I didn't want him to see it. I tried to school my expression and calm my beating heart as quickly as I could. "They're not Ranger's men anymore," I said, rather than answer as I strode toward the front door.

"They'll always be Ranger's men," Joe pointed out, following a step behind. I was grateful for the slight space so that I didn't have to worry about my expression as much, but his words rang too true. "No matter how much time passes, Ranger's touch will always be there, because that's the kind of man he was."

I paused on the front porch, key in hand, facing the door. "That's why," I told him quietly.

"Why you're avoiding the men?" he clarified.

"Yes."

I could sense his presence just behind my shoulder and praying he would just let this go. No such luck. "And that's the only reason?" he asked.

Shrugging, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, tapping in my code to disarm the alarm system before moving further down the hall to set my bag down. "I guess I just want the time to figure out who I am without Ranger and I can't do that with them around all the time."

"So you cut them out of your life completely," Joe stated. It wasn't a question. We both knew it was true, but I wasn't going to let him make me feel bad about it.

"It sounds bad when you say it like that," I said off-hand, grabbing sodas from the fridge on my way through the kitchen to drop some Hamster nuggets in Rex's dish before heading out to the living room.

"You know what sounds worse?" Joe questioned, still a step behind as I collapsed on the couch. "Having to tell them that, and then follow it up with the fact that you didn't figure yourself out.

It had been a long day. I'd put in a half day at work before ditching for car shopping, because it was the only time Joe could guarantee his time. And of course he had to be there as my car expert in residence. Putting up a front for him was exhausting, but I was grateful for his concern for my safety, so I didn't want to just push him out of the door like his company meant nothing to me, but didn't need his opinions on how I was living my life any more than I needed my mom's or Tank's, or the mailman's.

"That's not going to happen," I told him on a sigh.

Joe's brows rose as he sat down next to me, taking the soda I held out for him. "So you've found yourself?"

"No." I took a long pull of my own drink.

"You're trying, then?" he insisted.

"Yes."

There was a pause and I knew what was coming. Joe had a prove-it-tome look on his face. Before he'd even asked the question I was capping my soda in preparation of my answer. "What have you tried?"

I stood from the couch, setting my drink on the coffee table and turned to face Joe. I had _evidence_ to support my answer to this question. Physical evidence. Crossing to the chest under the window, I lifted the lid and pulled out the first thing I laid my hand on. "Ukulele," I stated, holding it up before setting it down on the floor and reaching in again. "Origami." I showed him the box of folded paper items I'd managed to not mangle on that weekend long journey. "Tennis." The racket joined the pile on the floor. "Wood carving." Admittedly, that one was a little more obscure to recognise, since I'd been really bad at it. All I could show him was a chunk of wood with nicks taken out of it where I'd gotten frustrated and just started hacking at it.

By this point, Joe had come over and was kneeling in front of the chest, digging through and pulling out items of interest to him, occasionally looking up at me with a dubious look on his face. "You tried all this stuff?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Did you do it properly?" he asked, pulling at the length of wool that was perpetually tangled through the chest. "Lessons? Mentors?"

"Youtube tutorials mostly," I admitted. "But Tennis was real classes."

Joe sat back on his heels, the yarn tangled around his hands now and looked up at me for the longest moment with a look I could almost describe as pity displayed for me to see. "Steph," he murmured. "Come on."

"My baking is getting better," I pointed out. "That's all thanks to Youtube."

He stood, shaking his head and grabbed my upper arms in a firm grip, but not so tight that I thought I was trapped. He was just trying to make a point. "You can't expect to find yourself within these four walls," he practically yelled. "You have to get out."

"Joe-" I tried to tell him to back up, but the words wouldn't come out quick enough before he was urging me for more again.

"I'm serious," he informed me. "Out of the house. One night a week. This is your challenge."

A sigh fell from my lips as I finally managed to dislodge his hands. Here Joe was, inflicting his will on me again. I wanted to push him away and insist he leave right then and there on principle, but for once, I actually thought he might be right about this. I'd been hiding away in my house ever since I moved in. Maybe it _was_ time to get out and join the world, even it was just once a week. Who knows, maybe I'll find myself once a week. "What do you suggest?" I asked.

He shrugged picking up the racket and swinging it around. "It's your life," he said matter-of-factly. "You have to decide."

_So _now_ he has no opinion?_ I thought. "If I do this will you shut up about my life and rekindling my relationship with the guys?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest to show how serious I was about this bargain.

"Of course," he assured me. I'd just started to relax when he opened his big trap again. "But Carol also has a challenge for you."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "_Carol_ has a challenge?" I asked, not believing him for a minute. I may have only met the woman once, but I knew she wasn't the kind to issue challenges.

"It's more of a request," he admitted. "But just keep in mind that she'll be really hurt if your refuse." I barely contained my eye roll, but managed to hold my tongue no worries, actually curious about what Joe's wife wanted me to do. "Have dinner with us once a fortnight."

"What?" Shock. That's what this emotion was. "Joe, really, I-."

But he was prepared for my protest. "She's not asking much. One, maybe two hours out of your time every two weeks. That's not even one percent of your time."

Another sigh escaped me before I could stop it. "Fine."

Joe took a three steps back away from me and the chest before adding quickly, "And she also wants you to have dinner with your family once a fortnight."

**_Has anyone noticed the POV pattern I have going? If so, tell me who's next. :P_**


	25. Chapter 25

_I'm still alive! Yes, that's right. Your eyes are not deceiving you. I am indeed popping up from my lack of reading and writing to update a story. I shall now go and attempt to catch up the ten books I am behind in my reading challenge... *Eek*_

**Chapter 25**

Lester's POV

My back hit the spring floor of the boxing ring for what I knew instinctively would be the final time. There was no way I could get up and take another hit like the one Diana had just delivered. I mean, sure, I would have been able to keep going if I'd wanted to, but history shows that the more you fight back with Diana, the harder you eventually fall. I was confident that I'd taken enough hits in this match to call it quits. She was going to ridicule me for giving up, but I'm pretty sure I'd survive.

"Get up," she demanded, standing over me with her hands on her hips. "I'm not done yet."

"No, but I am," I responded, stretching my arms above my head on a groan. "I'd like to be able to walk tomorrow."

She shook her head, brushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. "You've gone soft."

"I prefer to think of it as having learned a certain amount of self-preservation," I explained, trying for all I was worth for a nonchalant tone. There was a time when Diana had tried to teach us all self-preservation, preaching that if we wanted to succeed in the business we had to survive past the end of the week. As you can imagine, four strong men in their late twenties, fresh from the military weren't so inclined to listen to her lectures on reigning in our tempers.

If only she'd been as stubborn listening to our advice about physical fierceness, then I wouldn't be in this position right now. Sweat pooling all over my body as I stared up at the ceiling, hoping for death as I tried to catch my breath. On top of that, I was pretty sure I'd sprained my ankle. All this from ten minutes in the ring with Diana.

"Not enough to control your mouth, though," she pointed out, reminding me of the reason she'd dragged me down to the ring in the first place. Apparently, someone was incapable of keeping their mouth shut and my comment about Diana being sloppy seconds had made it back to her. In less than an hour. That had to be an office record.

"I'm pretty sure you've gotten better at sparring since last time," I informed her, getting to my feet. Distraction via compliments worked on women all the time in the bars, so I had hope in the strategy, but not enough to make it work, apparently.

She sent her patented evil glare my way. "That's a weak excuse. But I'll take it and give you the benefit of the doubt." Without another word, she hopped over the ropes, stuffed her feet into the boots she'd shucked ten minutes ago and saunter out of the gym like she'd just bought a sofa and was going to meet the clerk at the warehouse door around back to load into her truck.

_Thank God,_ I thought, running a hand through my shaggy mop of hair as I hobbled to the bench at the side of the room. So much for being able to walk tomorrow. I'd definitely needed to get Bobby to check out my ankle, because there was no way that it wasn't sprained. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd fractured my foot.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you speak," Hank commented, handing me a bottle of water. He glanced down at my foot. "You gonna be all right for the clubs tonight?"

"It'll be fine," I assured him, even though I had serious doubts. "Did you invite the others?"

"Greg's on board," he informed me. "I couldn't find Freddie though."

"Did you check under the desks?" I asked, having guzzled half the bottling in one go. Maybe Diana was right and I _had_ gone soft.

"First place I looked," he assured me with a smirk. "I'm surprised the kid doesn't have curvature of the spine. I can feel a hump growing just from half an hour peering under desks. I hate to think what would happen if I spent my entire life holed up under them."

"Can't blame him for gravitating to the small, dark spaces, though," I pointed out, testing the range of motion on my ankle by rolling it around. "Diana would never stoop that low."

"You'd be surprised," Freddie's voice cut across the room from the gym doors. He gave a shy smirk when Hank and I jerked our heads around to see him. This guy was at odds with himself. An hour ago he was a stammering mess, blushing harder than any man should allow, and now he was attempting to brag about sex with the very woman who had practically emasculated him in the board room.

I shook my head, sopping up the sweat that covered my face with the t-shirt I'd discarded before stepping into the ring. "Please tell me you're not attempting to brag about your sexual exploits with Diana," I pleaded. "I've just had my ass kicked for commenting on her private life and I don't care to repeat the experience so soon."

Hank snickered behind me. "So you admit you had your ass handed to you," he commented, idly strapping his hands in preparation for a round or two with the punching bag.

"I said kicked, not handed to me. I held my own." I glared at him over my shoulder wishing for all the world that I weren't injured so I could show him the difference. Turning back to Freddie, I cleared my throat. "Anyway. I don't need to know what Diana does to violate you. I just wanna know if you wanna come out with us tonight. Kind of a send-off."

To his credit, Freddie didn't bat an eye at my invitation. If it had been me, and I'd been treated the way I'd been treating him I'd have figured something was up. Then again, I had a tendency to inspire that kind of malice in people. The amount of times I'd been lead straight into the lion's den was actually more than I cared to admit to. Suspicion was my best friend whenever the guys offered anything.

"Out where?" he asked, hands stuffed in his pockets like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Just some local clubs," I told him. "Drinking. Dancing. The occasional hot blond. Standard Guy's Night procedures."

Freddie shrugged and nodded simultaneously, bringing my attention to the checked shirt that he wore – his supposed uniform – and I realised, not for the first time, how skinny he was. Even in my current state, I was pretty sure I could get the better of him within three minutes. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"

"We're meeting in garage at ten," I informed him, slipping my shirt over my head. "If you're not there think of a better excuse than _Diana said no_. I know you balls are wrapped around her little finger, but every now and then, you've gotta let them unwind and step out on your own."

No sooner had I finished speaking and shoving my head and arms into my shirt than a fist connected with my gut causing me to double over with a groan.

"How many times a I gonna need to sucker punch you before you get it through your thick skull that it's better to keep your fat trap shut?" Tank's deep voice penetrated the haze of pain.

"I'd say that last one'll do it," I managed to wheeze as I stumbled, jarring my ankle anew. "Thanks for that, man."

"My pleasure," he responded, ignoring my sarcasm like he always did. "Get Bobby to check your ankle out."

*o*

Sprained. Just like I thought. Bobby's orders were to use rest it, elevated, with an ice pack. He also put me on desk duty for a two weeks. The bastard even had the gall to grin at me when he delivered the news, knowing I'd brought it on myself and should have known better.

Ordinarily, I'd be given the rest of the day off after an injury like this, but given that it was practically self-inflicted, I was required to continue working. I did, however, have permission to work from the breakroom sofa in order to keep my foot elevated. I stopped by my cubicle to grab a pile of files I'd been neglecting and my iPad and then proceeded to the comfort of the soft leather couch. As I entered the breakroom, though, I caught the end of a very serious conversation between Diana and Greg.

"I'm counting on you," she informed him sternly.

"I know," Greg returned. His expression was somewhere between casual fear and mild terror.

Diana took a step closer to him, leaning up on her toes so that they were eye to eye. She didn't need to do this. She could be two feet shorter than someone and be intimidating as hell. "If Halfred comes back with so much as a scratch on him, I'll nail your balls to the treadmill and set it going," she seethed.

"It's just a few drinks," Greg explained. "It's not like we're taking him fishing." And then, under his breath he added, "Not after last time," making me wonder what happened last time they took Freddie fishing.

"The threat still stands," she informed him easily, like she was remarking on the state of a sandwich after a strong wind.

Greg nodded and I could have sworn I heard a gulp as he swallowed. "Duly noted," he said.

Diana smiled, and patted him on the shoulder, her grin widening when flinched. "Good man," she assured him turning to leave. That's when she spotted me. Standing in the doorway with my one boot and the load of paperwork I would now be forced to sift through since I wasn't allowed out of the building for work purposes. If possible, her grin grew wider still. I was fully prepared for a round of scornful banter, so when all she said was, "Soft," as she passed I was simultaneously relieved and frustrated. She was going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life. I could just tell.

*o*

_Let me know what you think._


	26. Chapter 26

_So I wrote the majority of this chapter months ago, and after a quick note making session where I wrote down all the things that still have to happen before I get to the end, I started writing this chapter and then recalled that conversation I wrote oh so long ago. I had to modify it a bit to fit three people rather than the original two, but I'm actually a little happier with how it ends up. I'm so excited to finally start using the bits and pieaces I wrote down close to the beginning of this story!_

**Chapter 26**

Steph's POV 

I doubled over at the waist, my breath coming in short sharp gasps as I tried to get it under control. I'd just made it back to my front gate after five mile run and was now faced with the arduous task of getting ready for dinner with the Morellis. Normally, I would never both with running at all, let alone a five mile circuit of the neighbourhood, but after the shitty night sleep I'd had last night, and trying all day not to think about the contents of the nightmares that had kept me up all night, I needed to do something to get it out of my head. So I ran, wanting to experience that tight pain I usually did when I exerted myself, but as I wound my way around the streets, I realised it wasn't quite the same. I could actually breathe pretty well.

At first this realisation confounded me. Why would running all of a sudden get easier? It wasn't like I did it regularly. Only when I needed that feeling. But then it hit me. I'd been attending a yoga class once a week out near Newark for the last month ever since Joe issued his challenge, and we'd been doing a lot of breathing exercises. Apparently, my subconscious ad channelled that knowledge of breathing into my running.

Until I was about halfway home, that is, when I suddenly became winded and had to pull back to a slow jog. It didn't help that the last quarter of my route was uphill, but I eventually made it back and was now experiencing that burning in my chest I'd been craving as I left work. For some reason, I wasn't so happy to accept it as I had been the last time I went out of my way feel this way.

Wiping sweat from my brow, I straightened and made my way inside, grabbing the mail from the letter box as I passed. I stood in the front entrance, flipping through the pile. Just the usual bills and junk, it appeared. Until I got to a pale purple envelope. I didn't recognise the neat cursive handwriting on front, so I turned it over to see if there was a return address. I almost choked on my gasp as I read the name on the back. _Marie Manoso._

Why would Ranger's mother be sending me anything? Curiosity coursing through my fingers, I carefully ripped open the top and slid out the glossy, professional invitation. It took a moment of tilting the piece of cardboard around before I found a position where the light wasn't catching it in the wrong spot so that I could actually read what I was being invited to: _Abuela Rosa's 90__th__ Birthday._

I cringed. There was no way I could survive a Manoso family gathering. I don't even know why they'd invited me. I wasn't part of the family. Before I could get much further into my concerns of that, though, my phone chirruped, letting me know I had a text.

It was Joe: _Red or White?_

I shook my head. I'd assured him about a million times that I had everything under control for dinner tonight. I'd offered to cook, feeling that it was one of the only ways I could adequately express my gratitude to them both for being there for me over the last month without full on blubbering in front of them. Joe clearly didn't have any faith in my cooking skills – not that I could blame him, after the time I'd given him food poisoning from a ham and cheese sandwich – and had been attempting to get me to reconsider all week. I'd finally put my foot down and told him that I was cooking whether he liked it or not, and he shut up about it. Apparently he was still trying to assist.

I typed out a quick reply:_ Got it covered._

And I did. I had the link to the Youtube tutorial I'd used for my chicken stir fry test run the other night saved. All the ingredients were prepared, measured, chopped, cleaned and ready to throw together. There was even a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge.

The phone chirruped again: _I've got Pino's on speed dial just in case._

I decided to ignore him, knowing that if I replied it would just encourage him to continue and then my confidence – which was tenuous at best – would be completely shot. So I set the phone down on the side table and went upstairs to shower and change before getting stuck into the cooking.

*o*

Dinner went off without a hitch.

Well, there was _one slight_ hitch. The dipping sauce I'd made for the spring rolls I'd prepared ended up tasting horrible. But in the overall scheme of things, I'd call it a success. I'd proven to Joe that I was perfectly capable of making dinner for three people, which had become my main goal after the hard time he'd given me earlier in the week.

I was kitchen, piping frosting onto the cupcakes I'd made for dessert with Carol assisting me while Joe took an emergency phone call from work. We were giggling over smiley face Carol had piped onto her latest cupcake when footsteps sounded in the hall announcing that Joe was off the phone. He paused in the doorway without re-entering.

"Steph," he called, getting my attention. "Your phone is ringing."

My brow furrowed immediately. Who could possibly be calling me? The only people I regularly kept in contact with were my family, the Morelli's and Mary Lou. I'd decided it must be Mary Lou, on my way out to the hall where my phone was buzzing where I'd left it earlier.

"Hello?" I answered without even bothering to glance at the display.

"Hey Steph!" came a perky voice. It was familiar, despite the fact that I hadn't heard I many months. "It's Julie."

Taking a quick, deep breath to steal myself, I summoned up some fake enthusiasm and replied, "Julie! How are you?"

"I'm fine," she assured me. "I was just calling to see if you're coming to Bis Abuela's birthday party. I was talking to Tia Celia and she said she sent you an invitation did you get it?"

Glancing at the pile of mail I'd brought in that afternoon, I cringed anew. I should have known I couldn't just ignore it and hope the whole situation passed without them noticing I hadn't replied or turned up. "Yeah, I got the invitation this afternoon," I informed her, all the while trying to think up a valid excuse to get me out of it.

"So you're going?" she asked.

"I don't know."

I'd barely gotten the words out when a long drawn out, "Pleeeeaaaaasse?" whined directly into my ear.

With a sigh, I told her, "I'll have a look at my schedule and let you know."

She snorted. Always so open with her emotions, and quick to humour. The polar opposite of what her father had been, even when he was alone with me. "Shedule. Good one, Steph."

"I've been pretty busy lately," I informed her firmly. And it was true. Between my regular eight til four job, the mandatory two nights out of the house a week – one for yoga, one for dinner with either my parents or the Morellis – and the upkeep of my home, I rarely found a moment when I was doing absolutely nothing. "When's the party?"

"It's a couple months away," she said, like it was some kind of reassurance, but then her tone shifted completely. "And I was thinking," she started. I didn't like the sound of that. Nothing good ever came from people thinking these days. Especially teenaged girls. "It's on a Friday. And since I'm coming all that way for the party, it might be nice to spend the weekend with you and the guys at… what's it called now? RCM? Stupid name. Anyway, I'd like to catch up with everyone."

It was all I could do to keep the groan that wanted to burble up purely mental. Didn't I say nothing good ever came from thinking? "I'll have to discuss it with Tank," I told her. "I can't make any promises."

Surprisingly, she didn't seem fazed by my lack on solid answer. "Okay," she enthused. "That's cool. Call me back when you know."

"Sure," I agreed, glancing over my shoulder when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Joe was standing there, one eyebrow raised in some kind of question I couldn't quite interpret. "I, um, have company at the moment," I told Julie, stumbling over my words all of a sudden. It's amazing what happened to your tongue when you were aware of people watching you. "So…"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Of course! Sorry. No problem. I'll talk to you later. Don't forget to ask Tank."

"Bye, Julie," I replied and quickly hung up before I started making promises I couldn't keep.

No sooner had I set the phone down on the table once more, than Joe started asking questions. "Who's Julie?"

I let the groan I'd been holding out and ran a hand over my head, flattening the curls that at some point over the course of the evening had started springing up from the ponytail I'd attempted to contain them in. "Ranger's daughter," I explained.

Joe's eyes widened. "Ranger had a daughter?"

I nodded, swallowing the small lump that lodged in my throat when I recognised his correct use of past tense. "She's almost fifteen."

"And what's she inviting you to?" he asked as I passed him, heading back toward the kitchen where his wife had been left alone for several minutes. My burg manners were burning a hole in my stomach to get back to attending to my guests.

"Her great grandmother's birthday party," I explained.

"Who's great grandmother's birthday party?" Carol asked, her head snapping up as I entered. She had about seven cupcakes grouped before her, with varying amounts of icing covering their tops like she was experimenting with something.

"Ranger's daughter's great grandmother," Joe informed her, before I could just brush it off as unimportant. "Which I believe makes her Ranger's grandmother, correct?"

The last part was aimed at me, and actually received a glare from both myself and Carol. God only knows why she was glaring at him. I simply nodded my reply.

"Why aren't you going?" he questioned, taking a seat at the bench across from his wife, but turning to face me.

"I haven't decided if I'm going yet," I informed him firmly. "I only got the invitation today."

Joe shook his head, swiping a bit of frosting off one of the cupcakes Carol was working on and receiving a rap on the knuckles for his efforts. "Don't lie," he said, licking the frosting covered finger. "You don't wanna go. Why not?" Behind him, I saw Carol roll her eyes. "I saw that Carol."

"No you didn't," she responded testily, straightening from her work and crossing her arms over her chest. "You're just assuming you can predict my actions."

"You rolled your eyes," he stated. He returned his focus to me. "She rolled her eyes, didn't she?"

Carol came around the bench to stand beside him. "Of _course _ I rolled my eyes, Joe," she said. "You're asking stupid questions." Two small lines appeared between his eyebrows as he frowned at her. "She doesn't want to go because it's Ranger's family." She glanced over to me as though wanting to confirm she was right.

I nodded. "I don't really belong."

"See?" she emphasised.

"Sounds to me like Julie wants you there," Joe pointed out.

"It's an intimate family gathering," I told him, recalling the words on the card. "I really don't belong."

"Something tells me the Manosos would disagree," he stated coolly. "I mean, they did send you an invitation, after all."

"I'm not part of the family." He was starting to agitate me now, to the point where I needed to move. I wanted to wave my hands around and let my Italian temper out, but Carol's soft voice cut through the air and my temper in one fell swoop.

"Maybe not officially," she said, her tone thoughtful. "But thin about things from their perspective. Their son, and grandson, and brother, and uncle, and cousin, and father died. You are the woman he loved above all else. Why _wouldn't_ they want you there?"

My mouth was moving as soon as she finished speaking, though I wasn't sure what my argument would be. "Because I-."

That's as far as I got before Joe's exasperated words cut me off. "Look at it this way: You were supposed to marry Ranger. If he had lived you would be married by now and you would both be going to the party. Maye they're trying to show you that even though you never got a chance to make your relationship legally binding, you were as good as married in their eyes. I'm sure Ranger wasn't the kind of man to throw his love around so easily. You obviously meant a lot to him. Maybe they're inviting you to ensure that, if nothing else, Ranger's love is there."

I didn't know what to say to that. In fact, I wasn't sure I was capable of speech after such a heartfelt monologue. The stinging behind my eyes told me his words were sincere, and if I wasn't careful, I'd be crying in front of him and his wife. This was not how I'd pictured this evening going when I'd offered to play host. Finally, I sat down at the small table we'd eaten dinner at and stared at the blue food colouring stain I'd created while preparing the frosting. "I can't live up to that kind of pressure," I said quietly, more to myself than them. They thought they'd been making an argument for why I _should _go, but all of a sudden, I felt like I couldn't go even if I wanted to, because I didn't want to let them down.

Carol moved to sit beside me and laid a single hand on my shoulder. "They're not asking you to," she assured me. "They just want to include you in the family like you were meant to be."

"You should go to the party," Joe added, coming to stand behind us both, a hand on the back of each of our chairs. I hesitated a moment, and the indecision must have been clear on my face, because Joe let out a frustrated growl. "You're going even if I have to drive your there myself."

"Joe!" Carol admonished, taking a breath to tell him off further, but I interrupted her.

"Since when are you in a position to make life choices for me?" I demanded, pushing to my feet and letting my temper flare up once more.

He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "You revoked the right to make your own decisions when you chose to were sensible dresses and pink shoes," he informed me, gesturing to my outfit as if the green maxi dress and yellow ballet flats I wore somehow proved his point.

"Hey!" Carol exclaimed, standing as well so that we were all on the same level. "I'm the one wearing pink shoes," she pointed out.

Joe had the decency to appear bashful as he turned his attention to his wife. "And they look lovely on you, honey. What I meant was that Steph has never really been a dresses and pretty shoes kind of person."

"Is this how you want your daughter treated in the future?" I asked, pulling the attention in the room back to me. I may be annoyed with Joe, but I understood the reason behind his comments and wasn't about to let them get him in trouble with his wife. At least not until they were on their way home. No way I could protect him forever, after all.

"What do you mean _the future?_" Joe asked with a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Carol and I are the only decision makers in her life _right now_."

"They don't stay like that, Joe," Carol informed him.

"You should know that by now," I added with a slight smile. I'd been a pain his ass for long enough that he should have realised that he couldn't enforce his will on a woman for long without it backfiring.

Joe lifted his chin, denying the truth we were trying to feed him. "I reject your reality and substitute my own."

"You can't hide forever," I told him, crossing the room to where cupcakes sat forgotten on the bench and smiling. Carol had been creating a large love heart shape with the cupcakes and icing. The ones in the middle were completely cover, but the ones around the edge were only covered enough to make the outline of the shape. I took a cake from the middle and started peeling the paper off.

"Neither can you," Joe assured me, reaching over my shoulder to grab the cupcake with the most icing. "And I'll have you know that if Bailey was as deeply depressed as you are-"

"I'm not depressed," I protested, but he kept talking as if he hadn't heard me.

"I would be thankful to anyone who attempted to help her back to the loving arms of her family."

My mouth was full of cupcake when I corrected him. "Not _my_ family."

"Semantics," he stated with a wave of his cupcake filled hand. "So back to the conversation that I have no remorse for eaves dropping on. What was the bit about your talking to Tank?"

I was ready to kick him out of my house. I really and truly was. "She wanted to stay with me and the guys for the weekend of the party," I sighed.

He made an _ahhhh_ noise like dots were connecting and stars were aligning. "So you're going to call Tank and discuss?" he asked.

"No."

His brow quirked up in challenge. "You're comfortably spinning lies to a fourteen year old girl who's father died less than a year ago and whom obviously idolises you just because you don't want to talk to a man who only has your best interests at heart?"

My reply came more slowly this time, sensing a trap, but unwilling to give in to his pressure. "No?"

Joe nodded knowingly. "So you're going to call Tank."

"No," I stated once more.

"Stephanie," Carol said softly, reminding us both of her presence.

I shook my head, stopping whatever words she was about to say. "I can't deal with Ranger's family _and_ the Merry Men in the same weekend," I told them both. "It's too much."

He shrugged. "So arrange another time for her to come and stay."

Before I could formulate a response, Carol grabbed her husband by the arm, removing the cupcake from his hand and started dragging him toward the door. "I think it's about time we headed home," she announced forcefully. "We've given Steph plenty to think about, now I think we should leave her be before she refuses to see us ever again." Joe tried to protest, but she didn't let him get a word in. "I know you're used to her being angry at you and regularly freezing you out, but I'm not. I like her and I don't want to have to divorce you over the fact that you pushed our friends away. So please, go out and start the car."

Joe blinked twice, panic filling his eyes as he clearly registered the word divorce, before giving a short nod and striding purposefully from my home.

Carol turned to me, worry creasing her expression. "I'm so sorry," she said, stepping forward. "I should have stopped him sooner. You need time to get your head around this without Joe sticking his nose in it. If you want to talk let me know. Doesn't matter what time of day it is." She grabbed me in a quick hug, sent me a smile and then turned to leave. As she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder to me and added. "You should consider going to the party."

*o*

**_Next chapter involves two Tank scenes I've had in the bank for a while. _**


	27. Chapter 27

_So I got to use more of the conversations I thought up months ago, which is super exciting! We're making such progress now! And then I had a random thought while writing this chapter and decided to add in some comic relief for you all. At least I'm pretty sure it's comic relief... Let me know. Also, just a reminder that this is FICTION._

**Chapter 27**

Tank's POV

I entered the break room in search of a distraction from the horrifying images that had just been sent to me via the secure link the government used. It was a request. They needed a team and though RCM Security was the best place to find one given our history and reputation. Unfortunately, I didn't think I could pull together four men with sufficient skill that were in the right head space at the moment to spend a few weeks trekking through the wilderness, killing anything that moves and rescuing innocent villagers from hell on earth. Anyone I might have sent was stuck in a funk, snapping at each other and throwing punches when they knew better.

In short, my life was like a living hell. I felt like I was babysitting a bunch of three year olds half the time. The only saving grace was that I didn't have to change any diapers. Although we did come close last week when Hal and Hank were on a job and shots were fired, narrowly missing Hal's head.

I grabbed an energy bar from the box on top of the fridge and used my teeth to tear it open. I couldn't wait until Halfred returned my good prosthetic. He'd taken it with him back to Miami five weeks ago to do some upgrades he thought would be useful and now I was stuck with the rudimentary likeness of a hand if I wanted to where a prosthetic. My spare was purely cosmetic. No functionality whatsoever. I couldn't even give ta thumbs up with the damned thing. I'd given up on wearing it almost immediately. My naked stump was actually much more useful.

When Diana first asked to borrow my arm I'd been a little hesitant. I mean, the government only paid for so many prosthetics, I couldn't just let someone mess with the one I had, right? But she managed to convince me it was in my best interest:

_Five weeks earlier:_

_I sat at my desk going over the file Lester had put together in all his spare time, since he was stuck on desk duty, on the skip that had come in over night when my office door opened. Now, I know that there isn't a single soul at RCM Security, Trenton Branch that has the balls big enough to think they could just barge in on me without knocking, so I knew instinctively that it was Diana._

_"You off?" I asked without looking up._

_"Almost," She said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "Halfred's just doing a few phone fixes before we leave and I have one or two things to do before I get on a plane."_

_"Sure," I agreed, double checking a fact on the page with information I had on my computer screen. I fully expected her to just say her piece and leave. It was how these things usually worked, and in all honest, I couldn't spare the time for long goodbyes when I knew she was just heading back to Miami. But when she crossed to y desk and set down a small basin and a towel, I had to abandon the file. "What's this?" I asked._

_"You look like a hippie," she informed, an odd twinkle in her eye. It was clearly a joke based on my lack of smooth dome. "How long's it been since you last shaved your head properly?" she asked, proving my assumption correct._

_My hand raised of it's own accord to run over the stubble on top of my head. It was how I tended to keep it these days. Shaving with a razor was too arduous a task to manage regularly with just one arm, so I just clipped it as short as the special clippers I'd gotten would go and left it like that._

_The bemused look on my face must have been answer enough for her, because she slid the file our of my grasp and pushed her items into the space she'd created. Neither of us spoke as she used a straight razor to shave first my head and then my face. It was quite possibly the most thoughtful thing she'd ever done for me and reminded me of our time together all those years ago._

_The men who knew about our history assumed I was just like Halfred, since it was their only frame of reference for how men acted when in a relationship with Diana, but in truth, our relationship had been much more balanced. We were equals for the most part. Even in the bedroom, though that was taken more from an average of the sum, rather than a direct observation. She liked to have dominance, but so did I, and she couldn't deny how much she'd enjoyed it when I'd slammed her back against the wall._

_The one time she'd attempted to shave me back then I'd ended up with little nicks all over my head and face. But seeing her skill now I wondered if she'd practiced since then or if she'd deliberately done a number on me as some kind of punishment. If it was the former, I couldn't think of the kind of occasion where she would use such a skill._

_As she was removing the last remnants of shaving soap from my face, she paused and glance down and to the side. _

_"What do you want, Diana?" I asked quietly, know she never did something for nothing these days. The fact that she'd decided to show me some tenderness said that she needed something from me._

_"Your arm," she stated firmly, meeting my gaze with that authoritative air she'd always had about her._

_I raised an eyebrow. "My arm?" I clarified. "Someone already took it."_

_"Ha, ha," she said without a drop of humour. "I mean your prosthetic, idiot."_

_"Why do you need my prosthetic?" _

_I'd fielded my fair share of odd requests in my lifetime, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought someone would request my fake arm. Actually, now that I thought about it, I was surprised Lester hadn't asked to borrow it yet. God know he was probably itching to pull all sorts of pranks with it, but he'd managed to restrain himself for nine months so far. I guess that was the most telling indicator of his mind set with the stress of the situation with Stephanie._

_"_I _don't need it," she said with a slight shake of the head. "_Halfred_ does."_

_Something about that invoked a unique horror in my chest. "Why does _Halfred_ need my arm?" I asked, trying to keep my true feelings off my face._

_"He thinks it could do with a few upgrades to improve functionality in the field," she said, rolling her eyes as she spoke. "But informed me firmly that you'd never allow him to borrow it long enough to kit it out."_

_"So you're here to prove him wrong?" I guessed._

_The slight grin that graced her features let me know that that was exactly her intention. "It's what I do," she informed me._

_"I know," I agreed. "But I'm not sure this is a good idea. The government only pays for one functioning pr-"_

_"If he breaks it he'll buy you a new one," she promised. "Aren't you curious how much better he could make it?"_

_I raised my brow at her once again. "Have him draw up some plans and then we'll see," I suggested._

_Unfortunately for me, her grin widened to the point where she put the Cheshire Cat to shame. She'd predicted my response and had already formulated her answer. "He's already done up his plans from security footage screen shots and the few glimpses he'd snatched of it in person," she informed me, completely satisfied with himself. "They should be in your email inbox right now."_

_They were. And they were quite convincing. I handed over the prosthetic without a second thought. If I was going to be walking around with a dead weight on the end of my arm, it may as well have a power drill attachment, right?_

Holding the energy bar in my mouth, I pulled the wrapper off and dumped it in the trash can under the bench before taking a bite and laying it on the side of a coffee mug which I then filled with Ella's best brew. I was on my way to check on the guys covering the monitors, mug in hand, thumb keeping the bar from falling off the top, when my cell started ringing on my belt.

"Shit," I muttered, pausing in place to set my coffee down on the corner of the closest desk and dragging the phone up to my ear. "RCM Security, Tank speaking."

"Hey Uncle Tank!" Julie greeted cheerily."

"Julie!" I replied. "How you going?"

"I'm okay." Her voice had dropped a lot of its energy when she answered. "Has Steph spoken to you?"

I hesitated. I hadn't spoken to Julie in a while, so I didn't know how much she was aware of the situation with Steph. But I also hadn't spoken to Steph in a while either. I had to tread carefully so as not to put my oversized boot in my mouth. "What about?" I asked, opting for the safest route I could figure.

Julie sighed. "She was going to ask if it was okay if I stayed with you guys the weekend of Bis Abuela's party," she explained. "She said that everyone was real busy and that she'd talk it over with you and get back to me, but she hasn't."

I groaned mentally. She wasn't making this any easier on me. "Steph's been _really_ busy lately," I told the girl I'd claimed as my niece a long time ago. "She must have forgotten to call." It was ambiguous, but it was the best I could do.

"So she _did_ speak to you?" Julie questioned, her tone a lot brighter now. I should have known she'd interpret my words that way. She always like to look on the bright side.

"Of course she did," I assured her, telling myself that just because it wasn't the correct answer to the specific question she meant, didn't mean it was a lie. Steph _did _speak to me… About a month and a half ago…

"So is it okay?" she asked. "Can I come visit?"

I sighed. Outwardly. Making sure it sounded regretful. "We thought it might be better if you waited until school holidays," I said, pulling things from thin air as I opened my mouth. "That way Steph doesn't have to worry about work and you don't have to worry about being back for school by Monday."

There was a short silence as she let my words sink in. "What do you mean by Steph not having to worry about work? I thought Rangeman still operated on school holidays?"

"RCM Security," I corrected her automatically. "And we do. But Steph's been working as an administration officer at the local elementary school."

"Ooohhhhhh," Julie ohh'd, accepting my explanation far easier than I'd expected. This was Steph, after all. She wasn't really the type to keep a steady administration job. Anyone who knew her knew she needed excitement and unpredictability in her life. "That makes sense. Cool. I'll call Steph and figure out when works best for her."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed.

"See ya, Uncle Tank."

I didn't bother replying. She'd known me long enough that she wasn't bothered by my hang ups. No sooner had I returned the phone to my belt and picked up my mug once more than the elevator doors pinged open and Jim and Tim burst out, singing their theme tune they'd made up very loudly and off-key while they somersaulted about, performing the tricks they were best known for in the circus (I mean, _apart_ from throwing knives at moving targets).

_"Jim and Tim. Jim and Tim. Jim and Tim. Jim and Tim. Jiiim aaand Tiiiiiimmmmmmmmmm!" _They finished singing just as they both rolled to a stop at my feet. For the past week they'd been down in Miami showing off their knife throwing skills to whoever Diana sent their way, and I could honestly say that the peace and quiet in their absence had been golden. They each held up an oddly shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. "Diana wanted us to give you these," they said in that eery unison they often opted for.

"Thanks," I said. "I'd take them, but since I only have one arm, and it's currently holding a coffee mug, you can probably see my problem."

Jim glanced at Tim – or was it the other way around? – and they both stood. "Do we… uh…." Tim started.

"Maybe we should…." Jim replied, equally as lost as his brother.

"Would you like us to put them in your office?" the twins asked in unison.

"Yes," I sighed.

I followed them to my office, figuring it would be easier for them to open the door than for me. Once inside, I directed them to set the packages on the small coffee table in front of the couch at the opposite end of the room to my desk. Knowing that the packages were from Diana, I had a good idea of what one of them would be. My arm. The other, I wasn't so sure. I dismissed the twins, who were grinning from ear to ear as if they knew something I didn't, and sat down on the couch to discover what mysteries Diana had sent me.

Bracing the first package on the table with my stump, I ripped open one end of the paper and reached in to grab the appendage inside, dragging it out with little difficulty. At least she'd thought to not wrap it so tightly that I'd have trouble getting it out. I laid the arm on the table and tossed the paper to the side to deal with later. The prosthetic appeared exactly the same as it had when I handed it over to Diana. There were no switches, levers, buttons or secret compartments as far as I could tell from the cursory glance I gave it. That seemed odd, but I wanted to see what was in the other package before I called Diana. There's nothing worse than asking questions prematurely. Especially with Diana.

I gave the second package the same treatment and was instantly glad I'd decided to hold off that phone call when I pulled out what appeared to be a high tech version of the original prosthetic. It was the same dark flesh tone as my own skin - a much better match than the government issued prosthetic – and even had the same kind of feel as real skin, as opposed to the hard plastic I was used to. There were small, dots on the inside of the forearm and a few other random places on the limb, ever so slightly lighter than the rest of the skin and as I ran my finger over them I realised that they were indicating where buttons were located. I pressed the first button on the wrist and the top of the index finger flipped open, revealing a screw driver. I pressed the button again and a flap in the side of the wrist flipped up to reveal a line of interchangeable heads for the screwdriver. Hitting the button a third time did nothing at all, so I shut the flap manually, and sat there staring at the screwdriver, wondering how I was supposed to get it back in.

Just then, a text message came through on my phone, distracting me. I grabbed it off my belt quickly, immediately suspicious when I saw it was from Diana.

_Flick the lever nearest the elbow pit._

I did as instructed and the tip of the index finger snapped back into place immediately. I was impressed by the precision of the action, but also slightly paranoid by the text. She must be watching me. I decided to call her.

"You're welcome," she greeted, sounding as smug as ever. It was almost like she was taking all credit for the robo-arm.

"That feed link is for emergencies only," I admonished by way of reply.

Naturally, she didn't sound the least bit concerned when she said innocently, "I just wanted to see your reaction."

"Are you satisfied?" I asked.

"No," she responded, and I could almost imagine her putting on her fake pout. The one that didn't fool anyone who knew her, because she was too much of a bitch at heart for the expression to work. "You went for a really boring button."

I rolled my eyes. "What button would you have preferred?"

"The last one on the inner arm," she stated instantly. "Push it now. I wanna see the look on your face."

I pressed the button, but not out of any kind of obedience to Diana – _I _was _her_ boss. I was just curious. Plain and simple. The moment I removed my finger from the button the index and middle fingers flipped down toward the palm and a small nozzle slid out. It didn't do anything. "What is this?" I asked, confused.

"That, my dear Pierre, is a flamethrower," she told me smugly. "It works by flexing your thumb, so obviously it would work better when the arm is hooked up to your body. And you also need to get fuel first."

"What the hell do I need a flamethrower for?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"Badassery."

We spoke for a few minutes more, and she informed me that Halfred had emailed an instruction manual for my convenience before I eventually hung up. I told her I needed to get to a meeting, but in reality, I just wanted to go play with my new toy. She probably knew this, so collected my prosthesis and shoved them into my backpack. I'd been stressed for far too long, and figured I'd done enough work for the day. It was time to have some fun. Bobby could captain the ship for the rest of the day. I told him as much in a text as I made my way downstairs to the garage. I couldn't wait to get home.

*o*

The next morning I sat at my desk, agonising over the government contract I'd elected to ignore right before the delivery of my new limb – which was firmly attached to the end of my residual arm and working just nicely – when there was a knock on my office door.

"Enter," I called.

The door opened and Bobby stepped in, followed by Lester. They both appeared slightly concerned as they eyed me carefully. It was Bobby who spoke up first, not that I was surprised. It was his duty as company medic to ensure the wellbeing of all staff. Including me.

"You okay?" he asked uncertainly. "You left in a pretty big hurry yesterday."

"Fine," I replied, and it took all my will power to keep the grin from my face. I couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when I showed them what my new arm could do. "Just needed some personal time."

Bobby nodded, glancing around the room, like I might have left some clue as to why I'd left so suddenly lying around. Eventually, he decided to take a seat in one of the two visitors chairs in front of my desk, probably intending to wait out a real reply from me. But Lester changed those plans when his gaze latched on my new prosthetic.

"What the hell happened to your arm?" he exclaimed.

I glanced down at it and shrugged casually. "I lost it, remember?"

Bobby glared from me to the offending limb and back. "You know exactly what he means," he accused.

Shrugging again, I decided to down play it. "Got it customised."

Bobby and Lester were now standing right at the edge of my desk, leaning over to examine it closer. "Hector and Hank managed this?" Bobby asked, clearly astounded by the workmanship.

"Halfred," I corrected him. "The man is a Tech God." I had no qualms stating this fact for all to hear. The amount of things he'd managed to cram into the arm while still maintaining functionality was phenomenal. It was like something out of a science fiction movie. "It's got all sorts of improvements."

"Like what?" Lester asked eagerly.

I pressed the button for the screwdriver I'd discovered first yesterday, but was actually a power drill with the right attachment according to the manual I'd studied overnight, all I had to do was flex the thumb, which I did now to prove how bad ass it was. Flicking the lever near the elbow I packed the drill away and went for another fairly subdued function: the bottle opener. Another flick and it was gone. I showcased the knife, corkscrew, tear gas compartment, sling shot, and heat scanner before settling back in my chair to take in the thoroughly impressed looks on their faces.

"That's so cool," Lester announced, like I hadn't already realised.

"What does this lever here do?" Bobby asked, pointing to a tiny switch on the side of the wrist.

I flipped the switch with a flourish, revelling in the sound of metal gliding along metal as various sized scissors emerged from my knuckles. "Turns me into fucking Edward Scissor Hands!" I enthused, grinning from ear to ear.

Bobby made a noise like he was suitable impressed, but Lester just clucked his tongue.

"Edward Scissor _HanD_," he corrected me, emphasising the D. "You've only got one scissor hand."

He was right, of course, but we didn't dwell on the fact.

"We need to get Hecter and Hank in here," Bobby stated. "They're gonna flip."

So we summoned our tech guys. Hector with his self taught computer genius, and Hank with his engineering degree. With an audience of four I showed them everything I could remember that the arm could do: Screwdrivers, lynch hook, spanner, flamethrower, heat scanner, thermometer, spatula (God only knows why), level, rifle scope, corkscrew, knife, USB, Boomerang.

The stunned silence that followed was totally worth revealing all my secrets.

"How'd he manage to fit all that in there without it being too bulky?" Hank questioned, like he expected me to know the answer.

"Don't know, don't care," I shrugged.

"Very impressive," Hector said with a nod, though I had a suspicion that he felt threatened by this show of genius.

Lester was up off the couch and bouncing around like an excited puppy, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "Yeah, it's totally awesome," he agreed, seemingly oblivious to Hector's concern. "But you know what would make it cooler?" He paused, probably waiting for an answer, but no one gave him one. "Voice activation!" he cried, throwing his arms over his head. "I mean, think about it. What if you're in a bind and you can't hit the buttons?"

Bobby nodded. "That's a good point, but I don't see how you would configure something like that."

"It'd need a key phrase," Hank mentioned thoughtfully.

"You mean like Inspector Gadget?" Lester questioned, still unable to stand still.

"Yeah," Hank replied. "Pretty much."

For fun, I lifted my Swiss Army Arm above my head and said, "Go-go Gadget Chainsaw!"

_VVVRRRRRRRRRR!_

I nearly soiled my pants as the loud whirring noise emitted from my arm. The others were staring, their eyes practically falling out of their heads. I was almost afraid to look up, but curiosity won out. There, protruding from the end of my arm, was a small chainsaw, rotating at cutting speed. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that that would have worked.

"Holy shit!" Bobby yelled in what might have been a humorous delayed reaction, had I not suddenly been holding a chainsaw aloft.

"You're Edward Scissor Hand AND Inspector Gadget!" Lester pointed out wistfully.

Blinking several times, I flicked the kill switch near the elbow pit gingerly lowered the arm. "I need to call Diana," I muttered.

**That was a really long chapter, but I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did.**


	28. Chapter 28

_So this chapter happened rather suddenly... I was just sitting there and then BAM! Out came some story... _

**Chapter 28**

Steph's POV

I let out a contented sigh as the glass door quietly closed behind me. Just being within the walls of the building that housed my yoga studio was enough to bring about a zen state of mind. I don't know if it was soothing lighting, or the gentle trickle of water, or the smell of incense burning, but something about the place just seemed to lift my spirit. I was only a step into the building and already, I could feel my cares drifting away.

I said hello to Gwen, the guy – yes, guy – who manned the front desk and made my way up the narrow staircase to the studio. I was cutting it fine. The class was supposed to start any minute now. Ordinarily, I'd be stressed about being late. But it just didn't matter. Pushing through the door at the top of the stairs, I found eleven people all leisurely setting up their yoga mats. There was never any hurry around here.

Crossing the room, I found my usual spot in the back corner, where I had a perfect view of all entrances and exits and other people in the room. It was occupied by a wiry, bespectacled man with short brown hair. He stood out like a sore thumb. First, he was new. I'd never seen him in the three months I'd been coming to this Yoga session every week. Second, he was male, while every other member of the class was female. And finally, he was wearing a pale yellow, checked business shirt with his lounge pants. Odd.

Taking a deep breath, I took the final step to be right in front of his mat and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped about a foot in the air and spun around to face me, clutching his chest. His eyes were bugging out as he stared at me. Probably, he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. Note to self, don't sneak up on people, even if you don't mean to.

"Sorry," I said, running a hand over my hair. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He shook is head, letting out a sigh and lowered his hands. "No," he agreed. "No one ever does. I guess I'm not very aware of my surroundings."

The corner of my mouth twitched up at that, like I was going to smile. There was a time when I would have been just as bad as this guy. The amount of times I'd had a mini heart attack when someone suddenly started speaking behind me was phenomenal. I pictured Rangers face and all the times he'd told me I needed to be more aware of my surroundings. It would probably give him a sick sense of satisfaction to know that all it took for me to start putting every piece of advice he'd ever given me into practice.

"Can I help you?" he asked when I'd been silent too long.

"You're kinda in my spot," I told him.

He glanced down at his mat and then up at me, eyes widening. "Oh! Sorry!" he exclaimed, seeming genuinely apologetic. "I didn't realise there was assigned seating. It's my first time."

"There's not really," I shrugged. "I just like this spot because I can see everyone and all the exits from here."

For some reason, this caused a smile to spread across his face and he crossed his slim arms over his unsubstantial chest. "That's exactly why I chose it," he explained. "It's a bit of an enforced habit of mine."

That got him an attempted single eyebrow raise. "Enforced habit?"

"The people I work with like to be aware of everything around them at all times," he shrugged. "They get on my case about it all the time."

I could relate to that. "I know how that is," I told him with a slight smile. "I used to work with a bunch of guys just like that. It's why I prefer the spot in the corner." Placing my tote bag on the floor beside his mat, I extended my hand. "I'm Stephanie," I said.

"Halfed," he responded, shaking my hand.

"Halfred?"

His lips quirked. "You can call me Freddie."

"Well, Freddie," I started, taking my mat off my shoulder and staring down at his. "I hate to be a stick in the mud, but you really are in my spot."

Bending at the waist, he grabbed the edge of his mat and slid it a few feet to the left opening up the corner spot for me to unroll my mat and kick off my flip flops. "Better?" he asked.

"Much," I assured him, lifting my head and flipping a strand of hair out of my face. Something on his shirt caught my eye and I leaned in to get a better look. "Is that…?" I reached out smoothed the folds of his shirt on the left side of his chest. "That's the RCM Security logo…"

He glanced down at it and then back to me. "You're familiar with the company?"

Unsure exactly what was going on here, I took a small step back and crossed my arms around my middle. "I was more familiar with them as Rangeman," I said, glancing around the room. Were they watching me? Had they followed me here? It felt like too big a coincidence for a Merry Man to show up at the very same studio I attended, twenty minutes out of town, on the very same night I always attended. Was this some renewed attempt to get me back to them on their terms? I thought they'd put a stop to it entirely after the last time. "Did they change the uniform or something? I thought it was supposed to be all black."

Freddie shook his head. "No, no," he mentioned, shrugging out of the shirt so that he stood before me in a singlet and lounge pants. "They still wear all black."

"Then why are you in a yellow shirt?" I accused.

A heavy sigh left his lips. "Wearing all black was hazardous to my health." I gave him a look that I was pretty sure said that he needed to explain and waited. He proved that he was definitely not like the Merry Men I knew as he gave a slight nod and started talking.

"I'm a tech guy," he started. "I spend a lot of time tucked under desks and lurking in dark crevices. I was getting kicked and stood on every other day, so they agreed to give me a different uniform."

"Huh. That was very accommodating of them." And very unlike the men I used to know. Tank would never have authorised an entirely different uniform code for just one person. Probably, he would have just told them to wear a high vis vest like construction workers, or wrap themselves in fairy lights. Hell, he might have even gotten Hector to install LED strip lights under every desk before he agreed to a change of uniform.

At that moment, the yoga instructor entered, ready to begin the class and I had to ignore the fact that a tenuous link to my past was stretching awkwardly a few feet away. I didn't feel the pang I had last time I'd run into a Merry Man, even the one I hadn't known that they'd sent the school that time. It was just odd having him there. Especially since he wasn't like the other men at all.

*o*

I sat in the car staring out at the house, its windows aglow. I'd put on three coats of mascara since I'd parked five minutes ago and it was not having the desired effect. Somehow in the last eight weeks since I'd promised Julie I'd be there, I'd managed to let Joe and Carol – hell, even my parents, and Val – convince me that attending this party was the best thing for me. They'd done such a good job at it that I'd actually begun to look forward to it, to the point that when Julie called earlier to remind me that I'd agreed to go I didn't have to fake enthusiasm. Now, though, all the apprehensions I'd locked away were beginning to resurface.

What was I meant to say to my late fiance's family? Should I pretend he didn't exist? No. That was a stupid idea. Someone was bound to mention him. There'd be reminiscing and story telling. That's how family gatherings worked. I'd have to expect he'd come up in conversation.

I'd come a long way since I'd been seeing a therapist twice a week. I could now tolerate the small reminders of him I got on a daily basis – a black car behind me at the lights, one word answers, the slightest whiff of Bulgari as I passed through the mall. I'd even started wearing my engagement ring again. On a chain around my neck. I just wasn't sure I could handle _this_.

Reaching across the centre console to the passenger seat, I grabbed up the tube of mascara I'd flung there less than a minute ago. _One more coat, _I told myself, adjusting the mirror so I could see my face, _And then I'll go inside._ I'd just unscrewed the top and was raising the wand to my eye when there was a knock at the window.

I screamed. A completely inelegant sound and dropped the wand. It bounced off my white and blue dress and landed somewhere in the foot well. I glanced after it but couldn't see in the half light. My eyes darted to the black smear on my dress next and I let out a small groan before finally seeing who was at my window.

Julie.

She had a worried smile on her face as she looked in at me. I let out a sigh and opened the door.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said immediately, stepping back to allow me space to exit. "I thought you saw me You were staring at the house when I came out."

I shook my head. "It's fine. I was off with the pixies. Thinking. I wasn't aware of my surroundings."

Her smile turned a little sad. "Dad would have said something mildly reprimanding," she said, looking anywhere but at me.

And just like that I knew I had to get through tonight not just for myself, but for Julie. This had to be hard on her as well. As far as I knew this was the first major family event since her father's death, and while I knew she and Ranger weren't as close as they could have been, they had been working steadily on getting to know each other and keeping the lines of communication open – as much as a teenager and an ex-Ranger could – for the last four years. They would email and text each other regularly and I knew she'd always looked forward to seeing him at these things. As he had her. His absence tonight was weighing on both of us. I wasn't sure I could do anything to help her through, I mean, I hadn't seen her since the funeral, but she called me every now and then and I felt like she still thought of me as her step-mother or whatever, even though I never would be.

Grabbing my purse off the passenger seat, I slid out from behind the wheel to stand on the sidewalk beside the girl I would always think of as family. She was the love of my life's flesh and blood. His only daughter. Her smile was his. And I would do anything to protect her.

"Good," she said, glancing back at the house. "You _are_ coming in. Uncle Lester was worried you were about to drive away. That's why he sent me out to get you."

"Lester's here?" I asked, hesitating just a moment at the bottom of the porch steps.

She looked at me over her shoulder, one hand on the door. "Duh." Her expression said I was being dense. She was probably right. After all, Abuela Rosa was Lester's grandmother as well. "Is everything all right?" Julie asked, dropping her hand and turning to face me once more.

"It's nothing," I assured her, finally climbing the steps. "I didn't know Lester was coming, that's all." Truth, but what I followed it up with was less so. "Last time I mentioned the party he wasn't sure if he could make it."

Her brow furrowed. "He RSVP'd two weeks ago," she pointed out. "He didn't tell you?"

I mentally hit myself in the head. How could I be so stupid? "Oh," I said, not meeting her gaze. "We, uh, haven't been getting along recently."

"Oh," Julie mimicked me. "I guess that's why he didn't come out and get you himself."

Her words, and the shrug she accompanied them with made it sound like she understood, but my chest tightened. I hated lying to her. She didn't deserve it.

Before I could let my guilt grow any further, the front door was flung open by Celia, her beaming face letting me know just how happy she was to see me.

"Stephanie!" she enthused, brushing past her niece to me. "There you are! Lester said you were here, but I could find you." She pulled me into a tight hug, like she was attempting to squeeze all the broken parts inside me back together. And I could have sworn at least one shard fell into place. "I'm so glad you came," she murmured in my ear.

"I would miss it for the world," I lied, trying to summon up a believable smile. I figured I'd be in amongst the festivities soon enough anyway, so I may as well get started on my façade.

Celia pulled back far enough to look me dead in the eye, but didn't release me. "You don't have to pretend," she whispered earnestly.

I glanced past her to where Julie was still standing by the door. She was checking her phone, but I had no doubt she was still listening. I wanted to tell Celie that pretending to be okay was the only thing that was going to get me through, but I didn't want Julie to worry about me anymore than she already was.

Luckily, I didn't have to say it for her to understand. Being a Manoso, Celia had those same telepathic powers that Ranger had. She just nodded and smiled, squeezing me one more time before stepping back to look between me and Julie. "We'd better head inside before Lester sends someone else out to retrieve us," she announced.

"He's such a busy body," Julie agreed, grabbing my hand and dragging me inside.

The moment I crossed the threshold I was engulfed by the wall of voices chattering from every direction. So far, so good. For some reason I'd convinced myself that the moment I stepped inside, all conversation would stop and I'd have to stand there awkwardly as I was speared by approximately fifty sets of eyes.

Celia latched onto my forearm on the opposite side to Julie and started leading us through the house, clearly searching for someone. "Abuela will kill me if I don't bring you to her first," she explained absently.

As it turned out, Abuela Rosa was in the kitchen, which was full not of people and chatter but glorious food smells… and a Spanish argument. Abuela was determinedly slicing bread, occasionally pausing to wave her knife around as she made some point or another. Her daughter – Ranger's mother, Maria – replied in kind, attempting to take the knife and shoo her out of the way. Rosa was having none of it.

"What's going on?" I asked quietly of my escorts, gaze locked on the arguing women.

"Mamá is trying to tell Abuela to go enjoy her party," Celia explained. "But Abuela is insisting that she is the only one who knows how to cut bread properly."

Abuela swung the knife around, narrowly missing Maria.

"Should we come back later?" I asked, flinching even though I was nowhere near her.

"No, I don't think so," Celia assured me. "If you think this is bad you don't want to see how she reacts when she finds out you didn't come and see her first."

"Good point," I agreed, still staring. I couldn't make myself move.

Julie didn't see my immobility as a problem, though, as she tugged me forward. "Stephanie's here," she announced nonchalantly, like we hadn't been standing there watching them argue.

Their heads snapped around and focused on me instantly. One tense second passed during which I worried over their reactions to my presence before huge grins split their faces. The knife was laid carefully on the bread board, hands were wiped on aprons, and then they were bustling over to me. Both talking at the same time. I only caught a word here and there, but from what I could tell they were happy I'd come.

Maria hugged me firmly, murmuring something Spanish into my hair before kissing my forehead and releasing me so that Abuela could take her spot. When Abuela was finished, she stood back and gave me a once over. "Too skinny," she announced, which was exactly the opposite of the kind of thing that would be said to me at _my_ parents' house. "We'll feed you up," she assured me, cupping my cheeks in her strong old hands.

"Julie, could you go get Tamerin?" Celia requested suddenly.

The girl looked at her aunt, confused, but simply nodded and left the kitchen. Once they were sure she was out of ear shot, all three women turned back to me, serious expressions on their faces.

"I know this is hard for you," Maria started. "But you are part of our family now whether you like it or not. We're not going to let you ignore us the way you've been ignoring the men."

I blinked in surprise. How did she know about htat? Julie clearly didn't know. And I'd thought Celia didn't either, but then again, she was much more intuitive than people gave her credit for – and they usually gave her a lot of credit. Lester had sent her to get me when Julie and I didn't return. Of course she was going to know something was up. There was a time when Lester and I would have been dominating a conversation side by side while Ranger simply wrapped his arm around my waist. Now he was avoiding me? How could she not suspect something?

"Don't look so surprised," Celia said. "Lester's been keeping us updated."

_Well there went _that_ theory._

They lectured me a little longer on the importance of family and sticking together, even pointing out that the Rangemen were part of my family as a lot of them had been included into their own. Many of the men didn't have family of their own. Shunning them was hurting them in ways I could imagine. Rangeman needed me and I needed them. All of the things I'd heard about a dozen times before, whether from Morelli, or Carol, or my therapist. But none of them understood. I needed more time. I was on the cusp of figuring out who I was in this post-Ranger world.

And then Julie came back with Tamerin, another of Ranger's sisters and the conversation abruptly ended. Maria plastered on a smile like we'd just been talking about daffodils or something equally as cheerful, and encouraged me to go off and join the party.

I allowed Julie to guide me through the crowd, mingling here and there as we met up with people of interest to her, or whom I was of interest to. I made small talk and nodded and smiled at the appropriate times and they would be satisfied and move on. Then everyone was called to sit down for dinner and my almost okay mood took a turn for the worst. I'd situated myself between Celia and Julie at the table, using them to buffer any conversation that might get too deep for my current frame of mind. I was quite proud of the position I'd chosen as no one within discussion range was likely to interrogate me.

And then Julie beckoned Lester over to sit in the seat on her other side.

Great. I could tell from the glint in her eye that she was planning to attempt a reconciliation between us. She hated it when people fought, especially when she knew how good friends they usually were. I should have known she would try to get us talking before the night was through.

"So, Lester," she said casually, dipping a section of bread into the dregs of her soup. "What have you been up to lately?"

"Keeping busy," he said with a shrug. "Work stuff mostly."

I glanced over at that, noting that he was staring at his own soup, and that his eyes weren't as bright as they used to be. I wondered what was really going on in his life that could wipe the twinkle out.

Julie wasn't put off by his vague answer. She was on a mission. Like a dog with a bone, she was not going to let up. She got that from her father. "What was that story you were telling Uncle Nick earlier. Something about Inspector Gadget?"

He let out a soft chuckle and I saw him shift in his seat out of the corner of my eye. "So Tank's got this robot arm that the tech guy down in Miami made for him," he informed her, leaning one elbow on the table. "It's got all these crazy attachments hidden inside, kinda like a Swiss Army Knife."

Julie laughed at this. "You mean like a Swiss Army Arm?" she threw out there, causing Lester to grin.

"Exactly! That's exactly what I called it!" he exclaimed. "Anyway, so when he was first showing us all the awesome things it could do he was pressing all the buttons and levers and whatever and I was all like, _'You know what'd make this way cooler? Voice activation_.'" His eyes flicked over to mine and I realised I was staring at him as he spoke. I quickly averted my eyes back to my food, but I didn't stop listening. "So we were talking about it and couldn't figure out how you would make something like that work until Hank informs us with all his engineering wisdom, that it's probably need a key phrase. To which I replied,_ 'Like Inspector Gadget?'_ and he was like _'yeah, pretty much'_. And so Tank goes-" He paused to laugh before getting to the punch line. "He goes like this – " Lester raised one arm about his head. "And says _'Go-Go Gadget Chainsaw!'_ And you know what happened?"

Julie just shook her head, knowing it would be funnier if she let Lester tell the story.

"A FREAKING CHAINSAW CAME OUT OF THE END OF HIS ARM!" Lester cried practically dissolving into guffaws. "I swear he shit himself! I swear it! There was actually shit _in_ his pants."

Unbidden, I found myself chuckling at the visual Lester's words conjured up in my head. I doubt Tank actually shit himself, but who would have blamed him if he had? I mean, he'd just summoned a chainsaw from his arm with just his voice. I'd missed Lester's flare for the dramatic. That didn't mean I was going to rushing back to Haywood first thing tomorrow morning, I had a few more things to come to grips with first, but I suddenly wasn't as annoyed with Julie's tactics as I had been a few minutes ago.

**_If you haven't allready you should go read "Between the Plans" which is a companion to this story. It'll feature scenes that I wanted to include in the story but couldn't because of plot speed etc. The first chapter is at the club with Greg and Halfred and the rest of the guys._**


	29. Chapter 29

_I wrote this chapter last night with good old pen and paper and then was falling asleep before I could manage typing it up. Then today I went on a road trip for my niece's first birthday and managed to write another chapter and half, so you can look forward to more updates close behind this one. Once I've typed them up, that is._

**Chapter 29**

Cal's POV

I was running late. By the time I made it to the underground garage at RCM Security half an hour had passed since I'd received the phone call. Unacceptable. Generally speaking, anything more than ten to fifteen minutes unless you were out of town was a company sanctioned sin. It was just as well this was an impromptu, informal meeting called by Lester, and not official business. God help me if I was ever this late to a meeting Tank ordered.

As it was, I was pretty sure Lester wouldn't criticise my reasons for being delayed. I'd been in bed with Molly at the time he'd called and hadn't noticed the missed call until I was about to climb back in beside her after retrieving a bottle of water from the kitchen. I shook my head to dispel the lingering image of my girlfriend's puppy dog eyes when I told her I had to go to work. It wasn't until I'd explained that we'd apparently had a breakthrough on the Stephanie front that needed to be discussed while it was fresh in Lester's mind, and then promised to return to her apartment when the meeting was over, that she finally agreed to let me leave.

I made quick work of the stairs, emerging into the eerily silent control room. Night shift was a drag. No one even _tried_ to break up the monotony. I nodded to Ghost as I passed by the monitors, trying to avoid looking into his oddly vacant eyes. Their pale colour freaked me out even when I _was_ prepared for them.

Entering the breakroom, I found two groups of men. One at that table, heads pressed close together talking quietly while two of them took furious notes on yellow legal pads. It took a moment to realise that it was the tech guys, Hank and Hector taking notes while Halfred – bumbling, skinny Halfred – spoke with an air of confidence and authority. The second group was sprawled across the sofas, looking much more relaxed. Lester, himself, was sitting cross legged on the coffee table, his pale green shirt untucked from his charcoal trousers and unbuttoned at the neck. Beside him on the table was a neatly folded Jacket and tie. He'd been out somewhere.

"What's happening over there?" I asked, jerking my chin toward the techies as I slumped into the only empty cushion.

"Study group," Hal shrugged at the same moment Lester said, "Nice of you to finally join us."

Raising a single eyebrow at the man, I explained, "I was indisposed."

Lester didn't question that. He'd been indisposed plenty of times over the years, so I knew he knew what I meant. "Right," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Now that everyone's here, we should get started." He paused, like he thought there might be a comment on that, but what he failed to realise was that the serial commenter was the one currently running the meeting, so unless he said something stupid or outrageous, he had the floor.

"Tonight I attended my Abuela's ninetieth birthday party," he began. "It was a real big gathering. The house was packed. And guess who was there."

"Stephanie," Tank said, his tone was impatient. "Just get to the part where you had an important breakthrough. Some of us have to work tomorrow."

"Okay," Lester nodded. "Well, Julie was there too, and while I've kept the adults in the family in the loop about the Steph situation, I didn't think telling Julie that Steph wasn't coping with her Post-Ranger life would be helpful, considering she's apparently in those angsty teenage years now."

"The point, Santos," Tank demanded.

"Well, Steph must have told Julie that she and I weren't talking because of some fight or disagreement we supposedly had. And apparently Julie saw it as her duty to get us talking again."

This was promising. Not only had he been in the same building as Stephanie, she apparently hadn't fled the scene upon realising he was there.

"What'd she do?" I asked. I'd only met Ranger's daughter twice, but I knew from Lester's stories and later, Steph's, that she'd inherited her father's single minded determination. Once she'd latched on to an idea she wouldn't let go until she'd explored every angle of it, or solved the problem.

"She tried to get us to engage in conversation," Lester said, a quirky smile crossing his face. "She made sure we were all seated together at the table and she started asking questions until it appeared that we were both talking to each other."

"_Were_ you talking to each other?" Bobby asked from the opposite end of the couch I was sat on. He'd been fiddling with a small puzzle, but now his hands were still as he speared his friend with a pointed stared.

Lester shrugged. "It's hard to tell. I was definitely talking to her, but I'm pretty sure Steph was doing her level best to only answer Julie's questions. She also tended to avoid looking at me."

"So your major breakthrough is that you had a one way conversation with her?" Manny asked. He was leaning against the wall flipping a coin over his knuckles.

"It wasn't entirely one sided," Lester defended.

"So she spoke to you?" Tank questioned suspiciously. Something told me he found that hard to believe, given the cold shoulder she'd been giving us all for months.

"As a matter of fact, she did," Lester responded smugly.

My eyebrows rose of their own accord. "What'd she say?" I asked.

_"Passed the gravy."_

His words were followed by a collective groan. He'd completely over sold this supposed breakthrough in his voicemail message.

"You called us all here to tell us that Steph asked you to pass the gravy?" Bobby asked incredulously, almost snapping his puzzle in half.

Lester rolled his eyes. "No. I called you all here to tell you that I managed to be within three feet of Stephanie Plum for over an hour, held a pseudo conversation with her and even managed to make her laugh at least once." He crossed his arms over his chest and speared Bobby, Tank and myself each in turn. "Considering that three and a half months ago she fled the supermarket when Tank tried to approach her, and then flew off the handle when I sent Greg in, I'd say this evening was definitely a breakthrough, wouldn't you?"

He hada point. We hadn't been able to be within twenty feet of the woman in what felt like a long time. That she'd allowed Lester to be that close to her for that length of time was significant.

I checked my watch and figured I had another forty minutes before Molly started sending suggestive texts to entice me back to where she wanted me. Enough time to get a few more details, I decided.

"So how did she look?" I asked.

"Beautiful," he assured us, then added. "Even though she was wearing one of those icky Burg housewife dresses she's partial to these days. And when she laughed?" His eyes grew dreamy, staring at nothing. "Man, it dislodged something I hadn't realised was sitting in my chest! I don't think I've heard her really laugh in…" he looked up all of a sudden. "Almost a year," he finished. "Not since Ranger died."

I nodded my agreement, at the same time thinking that Lester sounded like a love sick teenager. Our leader had been gone eleven months now, and our unofficial second in command hadn't stuck around. She'd escaped our reach, but there was nothing we could have done about it. If we'd kept her trapped in the building like we'd wanted to, her spark would have died out anyway. At least by allowing her freedom we left the door open for her to hopefully return some day. She would have hated us if we'd tried to keep her here.

What I wouldn't give to be able to ask her advice about my relationship with Molly.

*o*

A week later Manny and I were at the mall doing a routine security check as per the current contract we held when I saw a sign I couldn't ignore. _Support our troops_ it said, right above a picture of what I was sure was a delicious cake. If there was one thing I could never say no to it was home baked goods for a good cause.

With an ever so slight tilt of the head, indicating my intention, I slipped into the crowd surrounding the table to see what delicacies I could lay my hands on in the name of charity. I sidled up to the table, careful not to trample a toddler who was winding his leash around his mother's legs, and began perusing the selections.

Glancing up to catch the eye of one of the ladies manning the stall, I was shocked to find myself eye to eye with one Stephanie Plum.

"Sorry," I said automatically. "I was just – I saw the sign and-." Suddenly unable to finishe a sentence, I plucked a few bills from my pocket and shoved them into the donation tin on the table. "I'll just be on my way," I said. "I didn't mean to-."

I was already turning away as I spoke, allowing my words to trail off, but then stopped abruptly when I felt a hand on my forearm. Slowly, I spun on my heel to face her, worried for what I might find.

There was a soft smile on her face and she was holding something in her other hand. As I watched, she lifted the cupcake toward me, her eyes locked on mine. "I baked this one," she said quietly, using her grip on my arm to lift it so she could place the cake in the palm of my hand.

"Thanks," I said hoarsely. I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to. I was too shocked. Stephanie was talking to me. Not only that, she was offering me a muffin that she'd apparently made herself in order to raise money for this charity. We stood there for the longest moment, staring, until an old lady waved her hand between our faces.

"I don't got all day, ya know!" she exclaimed. And just like that the spell was broken. I lifted the muffin with a nod of thanks and backed my way out of the crowd until I was once again beside Manny.

"Was that –" Manny asked.

"Yeah," I answered his unfinished question. "She gave me her muffin."

_**I love the smell of progress in the evening. Oh wait, that's rain. It's been raining all day.**_


	30. Chapter 30

_Like I said yesterday. I did some car trip writing. I got this whole chapter written by lunch time and moved on to the next after lunch... I still have a few things to work out for the next chapter so it may take a little longer, but things are definitely happening as you will find out at the end of this chapter._

**Chapter 30**

Steph's POV

I knew he was as surprised to come face to face with me as I was to find him eying off my cakes. His eyebrows rose high up on his forehead, making his skull tattoo contort in such a way that it looked anger than usual, if that was possible. It wasn't an expression I'd seen on his face often, but I knew he wasn't expecting to find me here of all places. And if his face didn't convince me, his stumbling words an attempted hasty retreat would have made it abundantly clear.

"Sorry," he blurted, his eyes darting left and right as though he was looking for an escape. He was boxed in by a woman with her pet toddler on one side, an old lady with an aggressive purple perm on the other, and a tightly packed crowd of people at his back. At this stage, I figured unless he leapt over the table – which I doubted he would do because it would bring him _closer_ to me, the opposite of his apparent goal – he would have to plough at least a dozen people over. "I was just-" he tried to explain, glancing back to me when he'd noted his blocked exits. "I saw the sign and-."

Cal cut himself off again and shoved his hand into his pocket, producing a few notes that he then stuffed into the donation tin. "I'll just be on my way," he mentioned, turning away from me. "I didn't mean to-."

Before he could manage to push through the throng of people and before I could think too hard about what I was doing, I reached across the table and wrapped my fingers gently around his muscled forearm. He turned back to me slowly, a worried expression crinkling between his eyebrows.

Smiling softly in an attempt to ease his mind, I picked up one of the cupcakes I'd contributed to the stall.

"I baked this one," I told him, offering it to him. When he didn't move to take it I lifted his hand and placed it in his palm.

He blinked slowly. "Thanks," he croaked, but didn't move for the longest time. We just stared until the hand attached to that aggressive perm shot between us and started waving up and down to get our attention.

"I don't got all day, ya know!" she practically yelled at me.

With a silent nod, Cal lifted the cupcake in thanks, dislodging my hand at the same time. He didn't turn from me this time, just started backing away as the crowd wisely parted to allow him passage. I watched him go until the crowd filled in in front of him and my view was obstructed.

Aggressive Perm clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "This is a Support Our Troops cake stall," she admonished. "Not a _let's find thug love_ cake stall. Do us all a favour an date on your own time."

Her tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. And not in a good way. There was absolutely no way I was going to let _anyone_, not even a pensioner with a bad dye job, talk like that about one of the guys. I crossed my arms over my chest, widening my stance so I was more grounded. "For your information," I practically spat at her. "That _thug_ is one of our troops." She snorted like she didn't believe me and I turned to my stall partner, Veronica. "We need to swap sides," I told her flicking my eyes to Aggressive Perm.

Veronica didn't even bat an eye as she slid past me. "Fine by me," she assured me. "All the hot soldier types seem to end up on this end anyway."

I'd volunteered to assist with the stall because I felt a strong connection to the cause. The men in my life that counted – Dad, Ranger, most of the merry men, hell, even Joe – had served in one branch of the military of another. Any money raised today went to help soldiers, both overseas, still serving, and state side. Funding everything from providing much needed care packages to medical care. I'd seen the flyer asking for volunteers and donations and known I couldn't just ignore it. When I mentioned it to Veronica she'd agreed it was a great idea, though I had a strong suspicion that her motives for joining me were much more self-centred. Her comment just now only confirmed what I'd already assumed.

As I started serving the next person to grab my attention, my mind was still on the encounter I'd just had with cal. Unlike the times the Merry Men had suddenly appeared in the past, when I could definitely not deal with their puppy dog eyes and they were determined to get me to talk to them, Cal's presence had definitely not been planned. In fact, when he realised I was there he seemed to panic. I knew that they hadn't taken my request for space lightly, had been careful to avoid me ever since and I was grateful for the time it had afforded me to work through my issues, but I didn't want them to have a panic attack every time they accidentally stumbled upon me. It didn't seem right after all they'd done for me.

I handed the mother her change as she passed a blue cupcake down to the leashed child. She thanked me and I sent a smile as she waddled through the crowd attempting to unwind the leashed from around her legs as she went. I realised, then, that Just like at the party, when I'd been mere feet from Lester for the entire duration of dinner, the tight, vice-like grip that usually constricted my chest when I was faced with the Merry Men was absent. There was no anxiety or guilt or anything like that. I was fine.

"Your phone's ringing," Veronica interrupted my thoughts with a nod to the hidden pocket of my black maxi skirt. As I blinked, the sound of my ringtone penetrated my consciousness. "I'll be fine for a few," she assured me, shooing me with one hand as she passed a cupcake to a tall, thin man with a severely receding hairline with the other. "Go."

Pulling the device from my pocket, I retreated from the chaos of the crowd, noting Carol's number on the screen.

"Hey," I greeted. "Everything okay?"

"Please tell me you don't have plans tomorrow," she practically pleaded. I could hear Bailey screaming in the background. She sounded stressed to say the least.

"Nothing I can't postpone," I assured her, thinking of the grime that had built up on the grout in the downstairs bathroom.

"Good," she breathed. "Joe has promised to take care of our delightful, wonderful, teething daughter tomorrow and I _neeeeeeeeeed_ some adult time. I was thinking a movie and some retail therapy?"

I thought she needed something a little more substantial than shopping and was pretty sure I knew just the thing. "I've got a better idea," I told her, picturing the envelope in the drawer beside the table in my entrance hall. "I'll call you later with details."

That afternoon, when I got home, I retrieved the unopened mail from where I'd stashed it almost four months ago and rang the number on the bottom of the voucher. They were all too happy to accommodate my request, so I called Carol back and told her I'd pick her up tomorrow at eight.

*o*

"Holy cow!" Carol exclaimed when she opened the front door the next morning. I was standing on the front porch dressed in leggings, a tunic top and sandals with my hair curling around my shoulders, but it wasn't me she was astounded by. Behind me, at the curb, was a stretch limo. "What is this?" she asked, eyes flicking briefly to me before focusing back on the extravagant vehicle.

"Girl's day out," I informed her. "We're going to the spa to be treated like royalty."

"This isn't what I was expecting," she said firmly, shaking her head and finally fixing her gaze on me.

I smiled. "I know," I said. "But it's what you need and I could use a little pampering too, so I thought, why not?"

Shaking her head again, she said, "I don't think I can afford this."

This time, I grinned. "I don't think I can either," I mentioned. "But luckily, neither of us has to."

She narrowed her eyes at that. "You've got some explaining to do."

"I'll explain on the way," I promised. "Say goodbye to Bailey and Joe and let's get this show on the road."

A few minutes later we were seated in the back of the limo, each with a glass of champagne in hand. Carol was looking around, bug eyed, with an odd smile on her face.

"So how?" she asked, glancing over at me.

"Courtesy of Ranger," I said simply. I knew as soon as the idea popped into my head that I would have to explain the events surrounding the voucher I'd received in the mail, but I also knew that this was how Ranger would have wanted me use his gift. He was always so generous that it would please him to see me passing on his generosity to others. Of course, at the same time I knew he'd want me to know that the spa day was meant to be just for me, but these things were always more fun with friends.

"When Ranger died I got Tank to cancel all the arrangements we'd made for the wedding," I began. "He assured me he'd cancelled everything, but he apparently missed one. I got a call asking if I'd changed address because my fiancé had paid for a spa day for me for the day before our wedding. I kinda freaked out on them and they sent out a gift certificate for me to use when I was up to it."

If possible, her eyes got wider and she set the champagne down in the holder beside her. "Steph," she said, her tone hushed. "I can't let you do this! This is the last gift Ranger every got for you. He meant it to be yours alone."

I just raised an eyebrow at her. Well, _attempted_ to. I still hadn't acquired that skill. "When I called to arrange today I asked them to split the value between two people. They refused to do it." I paused, savouring the confused look on her face for twenty seconds before finishing, "They insisted, because of the circumstances, that they would throw in the same treatment for my guest on the house."

"Wow," she breathed."

"I know," I agreed. "So drink up and enjoy your free spa day. Think of it as my way of thanking you for all your help these past months."

*o*

As I pulled into the parking lot of my yoga studio I wondered if Halfred would be here again. I wasn't sure how long he was supposed to be in Trenton. Last week we'd chatted a bit after class and I'd learned that he was actually from the Miami office and was up here to fix a fault that had been occurring in some of the computers at Haywood. Apparently it took at least two weeks to fix this particular fault.

Three weeks, I amended as a Rangeman SUV pulled into the lot behind me. I waited for hi to join me by the door.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he replied.

"Fixed that fault yet?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm doing some mentoring now. Apparently the Trenton tech guys aren't quite as up to speed as we'd always assumed. I mean, for a start, it takes two of them to do far less that what I do on my own."

"Huh," I huhhed.

"Yeah," He agreed. "I'm as disappointed as you are."

We entered the building together and made our way upstairs to start setting up in our usual spots while we continued to chat. I let him go on a bit about how Hank and Hector were inferior to his own intellect. Then, at the end of class we stood just outside the entrance talking for a good long while. So long, in fact, that everyone – including the proprietors – were gone by the time I managed to ask the question on my mind all night.

"So tell me, Freddie," I said, leaning against the brick wall, my arms crossed over my chest. For some reason I found it easy to talk to him, even though he was technically one of Ranger's men. "Why yoga? I would have thought that being at RCM you would have to endure mandatory self-defense lessons. Doesn't that keep you limber enough?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Oh, they tried, believe you me, but I ended up injured more often than not. There was a collective decision that yoga would be safer for all parties involved." He glanced at his watch and sighed. "Speaking of which, I should be getting back. I have a- uh – meeting at eleven."

I raised my eyebrows suggestively. "Meeting, huh?" I teased. "Business or pleasure?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose and then straightened from the wall, heading for his car. "Depends on how you look at – WAH!"

His sentence finished abruptly on a startled exclamation as he failed to see the curb and tripped, falling face first onto the bitumen. He didn't attempt to move and made no sound as I rushed forward.

"Freddie?" I called, crouching down beside him and nudging his shoulder. "Halfred? Are you okay?" There was no response. Great, he'd managed to knock himself out. I froze as I noted the blood now seeping out around his head and a different thought entered my head. What if he was –

A gasp escaped my throat as I stumbled to my feet, backing up a bit. "Oh shit," I muttered, delving my hands into my hair and digging my fingers into my scalp. "Oh God. Please don't be dead," I pleaded. I removed one hand from my hair and found m phone in the side pocket of my yoga tote. I dialed on pure instinct, not even realising who I was calling until he answered on the fourth ring.

"Steph?" Bobby's voice was full of concern as he picked up. Not that I could blame him. I hadn't called him in probably five months.

"Bobby," I said, my breathing erratic, as though I'd just run five miles. I could feel my heart beating against my rib cage. "It's Halfred. He's – He tripped and fell and… and… I think he might be… He's not responding."

_**Disclaimer: I have nothing against leash kids. I, myself, was a leash kid and I turned out fine (in my humble opinion at least). I think in certain situations, a child leash is a good idea.**_


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Bobby's POV

My phone rang, startling me from the intense concentration I'd been paying to the medical journal I was reading. It took me a moment to find the device under the spread of papers on my breakfast nook, and then I spend another couple just staring at the picture and name on the screen. Swiping the icon to the right to answer, I slowly put it to my ear.

"Steph?" I said, sure I was hallucinating or something. I'd fantasised about her eventually reaching out to us, finally admitting she needed us. I'd had dozens of imaginary conversations with her as I stared at the pristine white ceiling of my apartment night after night wondering if she was alright. But she hadn't called any of us in months, so I knew this had to be an emergency.

"Bobby," she replied, her voice wavering a little. "It's Halfred. He's- He tripped and… and… fell and I think he might be… he's not responding…"

I could tell she was in a panic, but one detail didn't make sense to me. As far as I was aware, Steph had never met Halfred, whom I'm pretty sure was supposed to be at some kind of training tonight. So maybe she was talking about some other random Halfred. Who was I kidding? Halfred was the kind of name you only heard once in a lifetime, unless you had the misfortune of being named Halfred. And she'd called _me_. It had to be the same guy.

All this passed through my brain in a split second and I immediately calmed my thoughts so that I could focus on her. I needed her to be as calm as possible so that I could get as many accurate details as possible as quickly as possible.

"Slow down, Steph," I soothed, shoving my socked feet back into the boots I'd discarded hours earlier when I came off shift. "One step at a time. Where are you?" If I had her location I could grab my medic bag and be on the road while I got the rest of the information."

She hesitated and I sensed she was trying to focus on my question but whatever had happened was freaking her out. "I'm at, um, yoga..." she stumbled. "It's… it's…" She paused and took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself. My chest just kept constricting. I'd never liked hearing her so stressed. "Calm Waters Wellness and Yoga Centre," she said slowly, sounding like she was reading the name from a brochure. "It's in... um…"

"That's alright," I interrupted after a lengthy pause as she tried to recall a more precise location to give me. "I can find you from that." _I hoped_. I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the apartment, hurrying up the stairwell to the control centre. I needed someone to drive so I could stay on the phone and find out exactly what had happened. And I needed to keep her talking. If I could keep her talking maybe she'd salt herself out of the panic she'd gotten herself into. "Did you say you were with Halfred?" I asked, pushing through the door on the fifth floor.

"Yes," she confirmed breathlessly. "He does yoga with me." So _that_ was his training. "We were talking after and he went to leave and he tripped and now I think he's…"

Clearly, she thought he might be dead, and I knew Steph's tolerance for death was low _before_ she witnessed the love of her life fall to his death. Now, she tended to freak out if _any_ of the guys were even injured. At least that was the case back when she was openly communicating with us. Either way, I had to try redirect her thinking.

"Don't think about that," I instructed, striding over to the closed door of Tank's office and opening it without pause. "Steph, tell me how he tripped," I requested, being sure to use her name so that Tank would understand my need to just barge in without knocking. "How did he land?" I made the _Let's Roll_ signal, circling my hand, pointer finger extended in the air.

"He was walking and stepped off the curb and then just fell forward," she explained. Her tone grew more shrill as she went on. "He landed on his face and… Bobby, there's so much blood!"

Tank and I wee barrelling down the stairs now, but I kept my voice as even as possible when I spoke. "Where's the blood?" I asked, mentally kicking myself. She was having flashbacks. I thought back to that day. How she'd screamed and pleaded with me, with Tank, with Ranger himself, like her words and hysteria could bring him back. I didn't know if _I _could survive another heart shattering encounter like that. Let alone Stephanie.

_When I'd arrived on the scene Tank had a solemn look on his face and Steph was telling him adamantly that he couldn't be dead, that Tank didn't have the authority to make that call. _

_"Ranger!" she'd sobbed, grabbing his head in a white knuckled grip. "Wake up. Please." She leaned down and pressed her lips to his and then pulled back, her frantic eyes skating over every detail of his face. I got the impression she thought her kiss would wake him, like it did in fairy tales. I didn't judge her. There was no telling how I would have reacted if it was my soulmate lying there in a pool of her own blood. No one could judge her unless they'd been in that situation._

_"Steph?" I said gently, kneeling down on the other side of my boss's prone body. _

_Her head snapped up, spearing me with a fierce glare. "Fix him," she instructed, like it was that simple. "You can fix it. I know you can. You've-"_

_I couldn't stand to hear the desperation in her voice any longer, the determination. I was good, but I knew I wasn't good enough to do what she was asking. "You need to move so I can," I told her gently. Without a moment's hesitation she removed her hands from Ranger and sat back on her heels as I started CPR. The familiar motions occurred automatically, my mind as blank as I could make it. I had to focus on the task, not that fact that he was already dead. There was still a chance. There had to be. I couldn't just give up on him. Steph would be devastated. She already was._

_A few minutes later the ambulance and police arrived, they checked Ranger over. They did everything they could, but eventually just shook their heads apologetically. I wanted to fight them on it, to insist they do more. Do it better. But the medic in me knew they were right. He couldn't be saved. I gave a short nod and stepped back, wiping my bloodied hands on my equally bloodied cargoes. _

_A loud keening pierced the air as they lay a sheet over him, covering him from head to toe. Steph was struggling to get loose of Lester's arms. Scratching at him. Screaming profanity at him. Screaming at the sky for a second chance. Her face was drenched in tears, her eyes and cheeks red. There were smears of blood over her face and arms, and more blood soaked into her clothes from when she'd tried to revive him herself. It broke my heart. And I could tell that it was affecting Lester just as badly. His own eyes were moist as he clung to Steph, stopping her from dashing across the space to her fiancé. The muscles in his arms strained and he looked like he was about to lose the battle. _

_Steph was beside herself with grief. Her voice cracked as she screamed and bargained. Her fingers dug deep into the flesh of Lester's arms and even though they were already covered in the second hand blood that Steph had smeared on him when he came to comfort her, I could tell that she'd drawn fresh wounds. I had to do something before she injured herself. I knew Lester didn't care if she hurt him, but I couldn't stand it and I knew Les couldn't either, if she'd caused harm to herself in her mindless state. I dug a syringe out of my bag and prepped it as I crossed the ten feet to their side. Muttering an apology, I jabbed it into her thigh and pressed the plunger. It took barely a second for her to go limp in his arms._

_Lester said nothing as he adjusted his hold on her, expertly swinging her legs up so that he could grasp her in a cradle hold. _

_At that moment, none other than Joseph Morelli had appeared by my side. His gaze moved gravely from the sheet covered form on the ground, to the woman I'd just tranqed. And shook his head. "Take her home," he instructed, nodding to the SUV nearby and the path that had miraculously cleared in the last few minutes. "I'll handle everything here as much as I can. We'll get your statements another time."_

_I nodded my thanks. It was decent, especially for a man we'd all despised on principle. I'd thought it was odd that the cop would do something so thoughtful, but then I remembered, he loved her too. Of course he was looking out for her best interests._

"All around his head," she answered my question, cutting me back to reality as I reached the garage right behind Tank and made my way to the nearest SUV. Tank was already behind the wheel and revving the engine by the time I'd hoisted myself in and closed the door. He wasted no time, tearing from the lot as dragged his own seatbelt over his chest.

"Can you see where it's coming from?" I asked. Tank took a corner on two wheels and I had to clutch the sissy bar to keep from being thrown across the cab, realising my own seatbelt was doing nothing to secure me to the seat, since I hadn't clipped it in place.

The big man cut a glance to me and I knew by the way he immediately averted his gaze back to the road that he was silently asking where we were heading, so I leaned over and typed the name of the yoga studio Steph had mentioned before into the GPS, selecting the first address that came up. Hamilton Township.

"No," Steph said in my ear after a moment. "He's face down. Should –" She hesitated. "Should I roll him over?"

Tank was expertly manoeuvring us through traffic now, ignoring the cool female voice on the system. Clearly he knew a more direct route to the studio than the computer.

"Just turn his face to the side," I suggested. "Make sure he can breathe."

"O-okay," she mumbled and I could hear some muttering and other random sounds as she did as I said. "Oh," she said a little louder.

"How does it look?" I asked, not even batting an eyelash as Tank ran a red light and we were almost t-boned by a station wagon. This is what defensive driving courses are for.

"There's a gash on his forehead," she reported shakily. "It's bleeding. A lot."

"Head wounds always bleed a lot," I reminded her. "Like the time Lester nicked himself on the forehead with his knife while he was throwing it around and it looked like he'd painted his face red." I tried to get her mind off the panic by telling her about the time Lester had freaked us all out by stumbling out of his cubicle with blood streaming down his face. I pointed out that the cut in that instance was less than half an inch long. We'd given him shit for his dramatics for a week. I'm not sure it was helping, she just made slightly affirmative sounds, so I got straight back to the matter at hand. "You need something to staunch the flow," I informed her. "Is there anything around you can use?"

There was a short silence before she replied. "I have a towel, but it's soaked in sweat."

"That'll do," I said, silently adding that it would be soaked in blood soon enough. I told her how to put pressure on the wound without moving his head and then asked the question I probably should have asked first. "Did you call 911?"

"No," she said almost immediately. "I was on auto pilot. I called you first." She sounded apologetic, and normally I wouldn't have any of it, but it was a damn sight better than the scared wavering of a few moments earlier.

"Okay, Steph," I started, speaking slowly and calmly to ensure she was paying attention and understood what I said next. "I'm going to put you on hold so I can call the ambulance and then I'll be straight back to you, okay?"

She made a sound of protest, but then proved that she was still as brave as she always had been and whispered. "Okay."

"Talk to you in a minute," I assured her.

I called in the emergency and relayed the information I had and was just about to hit the button that would reconnect me to Steph when Tank spoke for the first time. "Mind giving me some details?" he requested.

"Steph was at yoga with Halfred," I said. "They were talking after and he managed to trip and give himself a gash in the forehead, knocking himself out at the same time."

"Halfred?" Tank asked, sounding about as confused as I felt about that particular detail. "As in Diana's Halfred? Tech God Halfred? Weiner limbs Halfred?"

"How many Halfreds do you know?" I pointed out, hitting the final button and pressing the phone to my ear once more. "Steph?" I asked softly.

"He has a pulse," she announced breathlessly. "That's a good sign, right?"

"That's an excellent sign."

*o*

Tank pulled the truck into the lot and I was swinging my door open almost before we'd come to a complete halt. I dropped to my knees beside her and took control of the towel with one hand while I checked his pulse with the other. Nice and strong.

"Hey, Halfred," I called loudly, pinching his earlobe. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes, buddy." I shifted the towel a bit so that I could see more of his face and a soft groan emitted from his chest. I looked up to meet Steph's gaze for the first time, a smile crossing my face.

"Halfred?" Steph tried.

Another groan, and he attempted to move.

"Buddy, you've had an accident, try not to move," I said calmly.

Halfred's eyes shot open at my words. "I didn't wet myself, did I?"

Tank barked out a laugh right behind me, causing Steph to jump. I don't think she realised anyone else was here. "I think he'll be okay," Tank said in his highly experienced opinion.

"You're all dry," Steph told Halfred gently. "Well, except your head. Bobby's here to take care of you and the ambulance is on its way."

"Yay," the man in front of me groaned.

Steph climbed to her feet, grimacing down at the blood that had seeped into the knees of her teal yoga pants. I could tell it unsettled her to be covered in blood again, and that the entire ordeal had hit too close to home, freaking her out. She was shaking so badly I was surprised she wasn't crying. Tank took a step closer to her and wrapped his good arm around her, pulling her to his chest just as sirens blared in the distance. "You'll be okay, too," he assured her as she melted against him.

That's when the tears fell. All the adrenaline in her system drained away and she was left sobbing against Tank's substantial chest. "I was so afraid that he was dead," she managed to get out, her voice, thick with tears, muffled by Tank's flesh.

"I know, Steph," he murmured softly. "But he's fine. Probably not much more than a scratch on his forehead and a headache."

"I kept picturing Ranger," she added, making my chest constrict. She would likely never fully get over his death, but at least I knew was getting professional help now, thanks to Joe's updates and Cal's informant.

"Shhh," Tank shushed. "It's okay now. I've got you."

**_Thoughts?_**


	32. Chapter 32

_It took me a while to figure exactly how to handle Steph's and everyone else's emotions so I could write this chapter but once I got there, it happened pretty quickly._

**Chapter 32**

Steph's POV

By the time I'd managed to calm my pathetic sobbing and extract myself from Tank's firm, one armed embrace, the paramedics had arrived, done a quick assessment of the scene and were loading Freddie into the back of the ambulance. I could hear Bobby telling the tall, skinny paramedic that I was fine, uninjured. He assured the guy that I would be all right. I'd stepped up to them at that point and attempted to climb into the back of the ambulance to sit beside Freddie. I didn't want to let him out of my sight. I was probably being paranoid, but I felt like bad things would happen to him if I let him out of my sight.

"Ma'am?" Mr Tall and Skinny questioned at the same time Bobby asked, "Steph, what are you doing?"

I stared directly into Bobby's compassionate eyes and stated, "I'm going with him."

"Why?" Bobby followed up, and I felt a surge of anger flare in my chest. He, or all people, should understand the hospital buddy system. Someone needs to go with the person who was injured to ensure their safety while they were defenceless. And in this case, Freddie was about as defenceless as it was possible to be in Rangeman. Hell, I was pretty sure _I_ could take him down fairly easily even when he was uninjured. As I worked my jaw, trying to get the words out, Bobby's expression changed, softened. He nodded his understanding and stepped forward, laying a hand on my forearm. "I'll take good care of him," he assured me. "I'll go with him. Won't take my eye off him for a second."

I shook my head. Ordinarily, the old Steph would have accepted this. Bobby knew what he was talking about. He was the company medic and he was the highest authority I personally knew on the matter. But I was out of practice being the old Steph. I'd been this new version of myself for so long, and so many things had changed that couldn't be reversed, that I found myself without that easy trust I'd always afforded the guys. I had to go with Freddie because he was my friend. I may have only met him a couple of times, but I felt like we had some kind of bond. I protested some more until Tank, looming beside me, rumbled his opinion on the matter.

"Bobby should go with Halfred," he said. "He has his medical file."

A stab of betrayal shot through me, like I'd been impaled. Five minutes ago he was on my side, holding me tight and letting me know that everything would be alright. That Halfred would be alright. Now he was telling me I couldn't go with my friend.

Tank must have sensed my rising tirade, because he crossed his arms – one flesh, one hard plastic – over his chest and stared me down. "We can meet them at the hospital in ten minutes," he stated firmly. "Bobby will call us if anything happens."

I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring his stubborn stance and opened my mouth to tell him where he could shove his suggestion, when Halfred's voice drifted out from the ambulance. "I'll be fine, Stephanie," he called. "Bobby's all over this. And I'm sure these guys have all the appropriate training too. I'll see you at the hospital."

It wasn't an order. He just said it like he was saying he'd see me next week at Yoga, and for some reason that snapped me out of whatever head space I'd gotten myself into. I shook my head to clear it and sent a small smile over my shoulder to the injured man. "See you soon," I said easily, and with that, I stepped away from the vehicle, Bobby and the paramedic climbed in, the doors were pulled shut and I was left in the parking lot with Tank who suddenly looked uncertain.

"Do you want a lift?" he asked, gesturing with a barely there nod of the head to the black SUV.

"I think I'll be okay," I replied, retrieving my tote from where I'd dumped it earlier and fishing my keys out of the side pocket. It only took me two goes to find the dexterity to push the remote unlock and I slid behind the wheel, grateful to be off my feet. With all the adrenaline that had been coursing through my body, my legs were shaky. Unfortunately, when I tried to insert the key in the ignition, I found that the trembling also extended to my hands. After several futile attempts I let out of a frustrated sigh and lowered my head to the steering wheel.

Slow breaths. In. Hold. Out. Repeat.

"Steph?" came Tank's voice. He was still several feet away, standing exactly where he'd been when the ambulance left. "Are you all right?"

"Dandy," I assured him, trying one more time to insert the key, not bothering to lift my head from its resting place. I rolled my head to the side so I could see Tank. He still hadn't moved. "I can't get the key in," I admitted.

He only nodded, letting me know he had heard and understood. I realised the ball was in my court. Tank wasn't going to offer me a life and risk offending me again, he was waiting to see what I decided to do. Shifting so that my legs were out of the car, my feet resting on the bitumen, I stared at him for a long moment. "Would you mind driving me to the hospital?" I asked.

Without a word, Tank nodded. He crossed to me in three strides offered me a hand up, which I accepted gratefully and started leading me away from my car closing the driver side door as he went and extracting the key from my weak fingers so he could lock it. It took me a moment to realise what, exactly, he was doing, by which time he'd managed to steer me al the way to the passenger door of the SUV.

"Wait," I said firmly, slipping my hand from his grasp and taking a step backwards. "What about my car?"

Tank had a curious expression on his face, almost like he didn't understand my question. "I'll have Hal drop it off," he explained with a shrug.

_Of course_, I thought. _This was Rangeman – and probably RCM Security – standard operating procedure. _Take Stephanie in the much more reliable SUV and have someone else retrieve her POS later. Well things were different now. For a start, my car was anything but a POS. I'd bought it brand new just a couple of months ago and I'd had it customised to include all the latest safety features. I didn't want to just leave it behind here.

"Could we take my car instead?" I asked.

If I sounded awkward it was only because I was pretty sure I'd never asked it before. I mean, why would I volunteer to ride in my mod-podged, falling apart car with no air and only one working window when I could sit in the relative lap of luxury that was a Rangeman fleet vehicle.

Tank hesitated only a moment before nodding once more and leading us back to my car. He slently helped me into the passenger side and waited until I had my seatbelt done up before closing the door and rounding the front of the car to slip in behind the wheel.

The drive to the hospital wasn't exactly quiet, since I'd turned up the radio, but neither of us spoke. I was too busy analysing what this new interaction with the men meant and how I felt about it. I certainly hadn't had the intense vice like grip around my chest at the sight of them in the last couple of weeks. And seeing Cal's frantic attempts to get away made me feel guilty for putting them through all this, but the awkwardness between Tank and I and earlier my – admittedly, completely unjust - anger at Bobby made me wonder if being around them would ever be the same again.

A sigh fell from my lips as I shook my head, staring out the side window. _ I'm just out of practice,_ I thought_. It's been months since I've been around them at all. I just need time to relearn the relationship. _Baby steps.

"This is a nice car," Tank said, interrupting my mental musings.

"Thanks," I replied, glancing over at him, he was focused on the road, but I saw his eyes flick to me.

"New?"

I nodded, loosening my arms from their tightly crossed position. "Pretty much."

Now it was Tank's turn to nod. He'd been doing that a lot this evening, I realised. "It drives well," he informed me.

I didn't say anything to that. Wasn't sure I could keep up a conversation about cars. Thankfully, Tank took my cue and dropped the subject.

When we reached the hospital, Tank parked and I hurried inside through the emergency entrance. Within a few moments, I had a nurse at my side, leading me toward a chair on the side of the waiting area, asking if I was all right, if I had been hurt.

"I'm fine," I tod her, my brow furrowing in confusion.

"You don't have any wounds that need treating?" she insisted, giving me another quick once over.

I found myself following her gaze downward and couldn't help the gasp that escaped my throat when I caught sight of myself. I'd somehow managed to forget about the fact that I had blood soaked into the lower half of my yoga pants and more smeared on my arms and torso where I'd hugged myself and wiped my hands. Probably, there was blood on my face as well.

"Oh," I managed to breathe. "This isn't my blood," I informed the nurse. And before she could react, I hurried to explain. "My friend had an accident. He was brought here in the ambulance. His name is Halfred. He has a head injury and there's probably a big guy dressed in black with him. Bobby. He's the company medic and I just need to know that he's all right," I finished lamely. After a second I remembered the manners my mother had practically beaten into me as a child and added. "Please?"

I hadn't meant to ramble at her and I knew without a patient's last name there wasn't much she could do, so I wasn't expecting much.

She glanced to the side and nodded. "I'll see what I can find out," she assured me, patting my hand. "Why don't you go wash your face in the bathroom down the hall, it'll help you feel better."

Self-consciously, I rubbed my face with my red hands. The blood was mostly dried by now, but suddenly I couldn't handle it being on my skin. I stood abruptly, giving the nurse a quick smile of thanks as I hurried off. In the corner of my eye, I registered Tank stepping up to the nurse and speaking in that quiet, efficient way he has when he's not yelling across the control room. I didn't spare it a second thought as the need to be rid of the blood covering me took over.

*o*

I'd been scrubbing at my arms and face for ten minutes – the blood had been washed away five minutes ago – when there was a knock on the outer door to the bathroom. I jerked upright, water sluicing off my face and soaking into my tank top. Any woman would have just let herself in, it was a public bathroom and it wasn't like I'd locked the door, and I couldn't think of any men who would want to grab the attention of people within the bathroom, so I quickly grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and crossed the short distance to the door, drying my face. When I pulled it open I was met with a leanly muscled man of approximately twenty five years of age. He was obviously a Merry Man, if his head to toe black attire, complete with company logo was anything to go by. He was also acutely attractive. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something abouthim was just pleasing to look at.

"Stephanie Plum?" he enquired looking me up and down quickly before pasting on a pleasant smile that showed off a row of gleaming white, even teeth.

"That's me," I confirmed, momentarily dazzled by the light glinting off his teeth.

"Tank ordered a change of clothes for you," he explained, holding up a familiar backpack as evidence. "And before you freak out about some creepy guy picking out your underwear, you should know that I didn't do it. It was the company house keeper -."

"Ella," I finished for him, forcing a smile. "Thanks… um…"

"I'm Tim," he said, handing me the back pack.

"Thanks, Tim," I replied.

He shrugged. "All in a day's work."

I let the door close between us before making my way to one of the cubicles to change. From experience, I knew that Ella could get all traces of blood out of any fabric if she was given the chance, but I knew that even if I _were_ to get her to launder them for me, I would still feel it there whenever I wore them. With that in mind, I didn't hesitate to stuff the clothes into the trash can, shoes and all. Luckily, Ella ad thought of everything and when I emerged from the cubicle, I was dressed in a pair of black sweats, a grey t-shirt I recognised from my pre-post-Ranger existence, and a pair of sleek, black sneakers. Every single item was blissfully devoid of the RCM Secuity logo I had expected when Tim told me Ella had packed them. She had a tendency to go a little crazy with her embroidery machine.

In the bottom of the bag I discovered two Tupperware containers. One held a ham and salad roll – the same kind that was always in the fridge at Haywood. The other held a large slice of Ella's signature chocolate cake with extra frosting. As I pushed through the outer door of the bathroom, cake container in hand, I dug through the small pocket at the front of the bag to find the fork I instinctively knew she would have included.

I was ten feet down the hall, the first glorious mouthful melting on my tongue, when someone fell into step behind me. Pausing, I glanced over my shoulder to find it was Tim again. He sent me an easy smile, but I wasn't as dazzled as I was before. I scrutinised his face. Something was off. He didn't appear as sparkly as he had five minutes ago.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked him once I'd swallowed the cake.

"Fine," he assured me. "I'm supposed to make sure you make it back to the waiting area safely."

I eyed him a little more, not convinced that he was fine, but decided to let it drop. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. "Okay," I shrugged, forking some more cake in my mouth. "But you have to walk _with _me, not behind me." That had always been my rule. I wouldn't try to lose my babysitter if they agreed to just treat me like an equal. It seemed to work out all right for the most part.

We made the short walk in silence. Well, almost silence. I _was_ eating the best chocolate cake in the world. There may have been some moaning. By the time we reached the emergency room there was only a third of the cake left. I looked up to locate Tank and had to do a double take. There was a young man standing beside him who looked just like –

I looked to my current baby sitter. "You're not Tim," I accused confidently.

His eyes sparkled in delight. "No, I'm not." He agreed. "But how did you know?"

"Tim is…" I cast around for an appropriate adjective. How was I supposed to work it so I didn't offend him?

His grin widened. "You can say it," he encouraged. "I won't get offended. I promise."

"Tim is prettier," I shrugged.

"Yep," he agreed good naturedly. If anything, my assessment had only made him happier. He definitely looked pleased. "I'm Jim. Tim's twin. Two minutes younger, an eighth of an inch shorter, not as pretty, but I come first alphabetically." Oddly enough, he seemed rather proud of that fact. I gave him a curious look, vowing to figure him out later, and shoved more cake in my cake hole.

I was still chewing when I reached Tank, giving him an expectant look.

"Halfred has been stitched up and they are now doing a few tests to determine if there's any damage," Tank informed me dutifully. "Bobby is still with him. They suspect Halfred will be kept in overnight for observation because he lost consciousness."

Swallowing, I nodded. "Okay," I said. "Thank you." As I put another bite between my lips, I allowed my gaze to slide across to Tim. "And thanks again for the clothes delivery, Tim."

His eyes flicked to his brother briefly and he smirked. "No problem," he said.

**_Stay tuned. I plan on posting the next chapter in the next twenty four hours (It's mostly written and just needs to be typed up, but I also have to finish making my costume for the Pop Culture convention on the weekend, so we'll see.)_**


	33. Chapter 33

_Here is the latest chapter, delivered on time as promised. It will probably be longer to the next update, since it hasn't been written yet, and I have a full weekend. _

**Chapter 33**

Lester's POV

I stared at the collection of phones on the table. They were all silent. For now. Any second now one of them would start ringing and-

Immediately, I slammed my pointer finger to my nose, raising my other hand, palm out, up beside my head. I glanced around the table at the others. They were all in the same "not it" position, staring around with wide, panicked eyes. No one wanted to answer the phone. It didn't matter who it belonged to.

"Hal was last," Hank announced accusingly, using his non-nose hand to point across the table.

_RRRRIIIIINNNGGGG!_

"No I wasn't!" Hal defended, his eyebrows shooting upwards to meet is hair line.

No one argued. We'd heard this exchange four times in the last fifteen minutes. Theoretically, the game of "Not it" was to decide who would have to bite the bullet and answer the phone, but while each had an opinion on who was last to put finger to nose, no one was actually cruel enough to enforce the answering. To answer now was to invite a mighty wrath on the entire company. Don't get me wrong, by refusing to answer we all collectively guaranteed our own destruction, but no one wanted to be the first to find out from the horse's mouth.

_RRRRIIIIINNNGGGG!_

At that moment, Derek, one of the newer men, passed behind Hank on his way to the refrigerator.

"Derek!" I called in my most commanding voice. "Answer the phone."

He looked over at me and then travelled his gaze around the group as if he only just realised we were all standing there.

"What?" he asked.

"Answer the phone," I repeated, nodding to the still ringing device.

_RRRRIIIIINNNGGGG!_

Suspicion clouded his expression as he stepped up to the table, examining the collection of phones laid out there. He leaned over to read the only lit up screen and immediately slapped his index finger to the tip of his nose, mirroring our stances exactly as he took a hurried step back. I should have known he'd refuse. Word surely would have gotten around the office by now.

The first time my phone rang I was in the shower and missed it. Tank left a message, managing to let me know that he and Bobby were at the hospital with Halfred and Steph because Halfred had stripped on his wafer thin dignity and knocked himself out in under fifteen words. I didn't bother calling him back. It would be a waste of both our time. Especially Tank's. Instead, I made my way upstairs for my late night office shift.

The second time it rang I was half way across the control centre with an oatmeal cookie hanging out of my mouth. I pulled the phone from my belt and was poised with my thumb ready to swipe when Hal caught my arm.

"Don't answer it," he instructed. "Whatever you do, don't answer it."

I might have asked why, but after a quick glance down at the screen I no longer needed to. As they say in the memes, _Aint nobody got time for that_.

Before long we realised that the same five phones were ringing in turn. Determined. But none of us was stupid enough to be the one to answer.

The phone finally stopped ringing and we all relaxed once more. Derek wandered off to do whatever he'd been doing before I'd drawn him into our circle. Leaving my phone on the table, I crossed to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. While I was away the ringing began again.

"That's your phone, Santos," Hal reported.

I glanced over my shoulder to find them all seated casually pretending to text or check emails or whatever. I also noted that Ghost had just entered the break room, looking as fresh as anyone did when they were just starting their shift.

"Hey Ghost, could you get that for me?" I asked, holding up the half dozen waters I'd retrieved as explanation for why I couldn't do it myself.

Ghost looked curiously from me to the other guys, but decided it wasn't worth his brain power to figure out my motive tonight. With a shrug, he picked up the device, swiped the screen and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" he greeted.

**_I shall now duck behind the couch for cover..._**


	34. Chapter 34

_Well, I might have stayed hidden behind the couch until I'd finished writing this chapter (as was suggested by one reviewer in particular) except today was the first day of Supanova Pop Culture Convention. I _did_ however manage to get it almost completely written before leaving this morning so that all I had to do this evening was add on the pre-written conversation (the end of this chapter has been planned for several months). _

**Chapter 34**

Steph's POV

It was at least another hour before we were able to see Halfred. I sat in awkward silence on the chair next to Tank for about the first fifteen minutes of the wait before Jim and Tim had had enough. They'd been standing sentry on either side of me and Tank, sending glances to each other over our heads. After the third time I looked at Tank out of the corner of my eye and opened my mouth to say something, they gave up on their bouncer impersonations and came around to sit cross legged on the floor in front of me.

"So you're _the_ Stephanie Plum, right?" Tim asked, leaning his chin in his hand. "Bombshell Bounty Hunter extraordinaire?" This earned him a glare from Tank, but they both acted like they hadn't seen it.

"No one's called me that in a long time," I told them, resting my elbows on my knees as I leaned forward to be closer to them. Something about them made me want to get to know them better. I'd always been intrigued by twins and the fact that these two were both qualified enough to dress all in black and call themselves Rangemen - well, whatever the RCM Security equivalent of Rangemen was – and still have these easy interpersonal skills was even more fascinating. "But, yes. I am the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Or used to be at least."

"Cool," Jim said, mirroring his brother's position. He really was attractive in his own right, but nowhere near the same level as Tim. It was like he'd bathed in glitter or something. Every time I looked at him he just kinda… twinkled.

"We've heard heaps of stories about you," Tim explained. "Did you really –"

"It wasn't my fault," I sighed, shaking my head slightly.

Jim and Tim laughed at that. "We don't care who's fault it was," Jim said.

"We just wanna know if it's true. A lot of our information comes from Lester Santos, and I don't know if you're aware, but he has a tendency to exaggerate things."

I was acutely aware of that particular habit of his, so I gave a short nod and allowed them to ask me about a dozen questions about various escapades from my past. Interestingly, there was a common theme to the stories. They all involved Lester in various compromising situations, like the time we'd been accosted by a possum and he'd barely made it out of the house with his balls in tact as it continuously slashed at his crotch. At one point it even latched on and travelled ten feet down the hallway dangling from the sturdy fabric of his cargoes. It was clear that they were after as much dirt as they could get on Mr. Santos, which made me wonder what Lester had done to them.

Once they'd exhausted their bank of questions, or gotten sick of Tank's glares, it's unclear which, they explained that they'd grown up in the circus before running away to join the army. Apparently, they had a unique set of skills that made them invaluable to the government. That information made my chest tighten as I thought of all the things they'd probably seen. All the things Ranger had seen. All the times he could have been killed, or died as a result of some assault he barely escaped. Only to make it home in one piece, start building the life he'd only dreamed of leading and be killed by bullet to the chest and an unscheduled trip out a window.

I sat back in my chair, wrapping my arms tightly around my waist as I tried not to lose myself to the misery that threatened to take over my mind if I thought much more about Ranger right now.

Jim and Tim must have noticed my change in mood, because they quickly reverted the conversation to the last point I'd been okay. They began talking in depth about their time in the circus, the different acts they'd performed over the years. I didn't catch a lot of it as I tried to calm my mind, but when I finally focussed fully on them again, they were standing, staring down at me expectantly.

"Well?" Jim prompted.

"Well what?" I asked.

"Do you wanna see it?" Tim said.

I wasn't sure what _it_ was, but I also didn't think it mattered. I glanced to Tank for the first time in a while and found an almost surly expression on his face. A grimace crossed my features as I returned my attention to the twins. They laughed.

"Don't worry about the big guy," Tim said. "He's just cranky because he asked for _one_ person to bring you the clothes and we turned up."

"But he fails to acknowledge that we're practically one person," Jim added, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders.

"Of course he wasn't all that enthused when we insisted on hanging around, either," Tim continued, shaking out his hands. "But we figure he's just generally cranky anyway, so what's a little extra crank here and there."

Jim nodded, pulling his leg up behind him to stretch. "Besides, we couldn't pass up an opportunity to talk to the great Bombshell Bounty Hunter."

I started to tell them that I wasn't as great as they seemed to think, but my words were cut off by the fact that they simultaneously bent over backwards – is in fully arched their backs – and laid their hands on the floor behind them like it was no big deal. Utterly dumbfounded, I stared as they walked their hands closer to their feet and stuck their heads between their legs to look at me. All I could think was that the likelihood of a dull moment around these two was rather slim. There was nothing I could say to that.

They showed me a few more tricks, to the utter delight of a young boy – who looked positively green – and his mother who'd had a worried expression on her face for the duration of their wait until her son started giggling at the twins' antics. Unfortunately, their impromptu show had the adverse effect on their boss as he narrowed his eyes.

"Ahem." A hesitant voice interrupted. "Uh, the family of Halfred Jones?"

I was on my feet in a millisecond. "Is he okay?" I asked. "Where is he? Can we see him?"

"He's fine," the doctor assured me. "We're keeping him in overnight, but you can visit with him for a short time."

We followed him back through the halls to the room where Halfred was resting. Bobby was leaning against the wall opposite the bed, arms crossed over his chest in that casual way he has. He looked tired, but unconcerned as he sent me a small smile. I returned the gesture as I paused in the doorway, Tank and the twins stuck in the hallway, before I took a deep breath and crossed to the bed.

"You freaked me out," I told Halfred bluntly, leaning on the bed rail. "I thought you were dead."

Halfred's lips curled up into a grin. "Nice to see you, too," he said mockingly.

I rolled my eyes. "How are you feeling?" I asked.

"I have a headache," he assured me, "But I'll be fine. They're only keeping me in as a precaution."

"That's what you get for losing consciousness," Bobby pointed out. "Next time stay conscious and you won't have to sleep in the uncomfortable bed."

Freddie slowly shook his head from side to side, obviously cautious of the ache there. "I'm used to it," he said. "I spent about thirty-seven percent of my childhood in hospitals. Probably, I could change my own catheter if they let me."

That caused a chuckle to sneak up on me. Making jokes was a good sign, it meant he wasn't brain damaged… at least that's how my mind justified it, and I was pleased to see that my laugh brought a smile to his face. "Seriously, though," I said, laying a hand on his arm. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Me too," he laughed. "I can't imagine how-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to the room burst open and in less than a second I was pinned to wall beside the bed. A woman, about half a head shorter than me, pressed her forearm to my throat as she somehow managed to secure both my hands over my head. My eyes were wide with surprised, staring down at her then across the room to Tank and Bobby. They didn't seem all that concerned by what was happening.

"Halfred," the woman breathed. "Are you okay? What happened? Why is there a bandage on your head? I would have gotten here sooner but _nobody was answering their phones_." This last part was sneered over her shoulder at the guys. A clear accusation. And clearly she knew them, but I was still confused. Who was this woman?

"We're in a hospital," Tank pointed out. "They're turned off."

"Diana," Halfred started, but she cut him off.

"How am I supposed to keep you alive when you're not even going to try? What's going on under that bandage? Who is this woman? That better hadn't scar."

And all the while, Halfred was trying to get her attention. "Diana," he said more insistently. "Diana. _Diana_. Get off her. Diana. Seriously. Get off. Diana."

Unsure of what else to do, I looked past the woman's head to the guys once more. Tank and Bobby were still leaning casually against the wall, like nothing was wrong. Jim and Tim, on the other hand, were standing stiffly in the doorway. "Uh, little help?" I choked out. This Diana woman wasn't pushing hard enough to cut off my air, but it still wasn't a comfortable feeling.

Tank made no reaction. Bobby merely raised an eyebrow. Jim and Tim raised their hands in surrender, shaking their heads vehemently with terrified looks in their eyes.

"Diana," Halfred was saying. "Get off her now. We've discussed this. You can't just attack anyone who stands beside my bed."

Diana's head jerked to the side. "No," she spat. "That's not what we discussed. You said I couldn't attack the _nurses_. You said that if I wanted you to get better with the best possible care I had to let them do their job, even if they were flirting with you."

"They weren't flirting with me," Halfred argued, though there was no force behind his words. Probably, this was a tired argument. "And neither is Steph. Now get off her before I get out of this bed and make you."

There was a snicker from the other side of the room, probably from Tank, but I couldn't really focus on it, what with this mad woman pinning me to the wall. My shoulders were starting to ache and I'd be surprised if my throat wasn't tender for a few days.

The Diana woman kept talking, ignoring Freddie's words, but Halfred meant what he said. He pushed himself slowly up from the pillows and swung his legs over the side of bed. His big toe had barely made contact with the linoleum floor when I was suddenly released. Diana let go of me and was pushing Freddie back down onto the pillows, fussing at him in an entirely different way. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took the opportunity to scurry across the room and wedge myself between Tank and Bobby. They didn't move to make room for me, and I was okay with that. I didn't particularly want to give the crazy woman the space to come at me again.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, loking up at the men who had seriously not had my back.

"That's Diana," Tank stated the obvious.

"And Diana is?" I prompted.

"It's a long story," Tank said.

"She's from the Miami office," Bobby informed me. "Same as Halfred."

I nodded. That made sense, I guess. Except… "Since when does Rangeman hire women?" I asked, watching as the woman in question, who had climbed onto the bed to sit on top of Halfred – probably to ensure he didn't try to leave the bed again – meticulously peeled back the dressing on his forehead and peeked underneath it.

"RCM Security," Tank reminded me.

"That's what I meant," I said, swallowing back the lump in my throat.

"Diana is the manager down in Miami," Tank explained, finally deciding to be helpful. Where was that a minute ago when I was close to being choked out?

I wasn't game enough to take my eye of this Diana woman just yet. For a start, she'd just tacked me. And second, I didn't know what her intentions were with Freddie. Or any of the guys for that matter. "And why did she jump me?" I enquired.

"Best guess is," Bobby said. "You got too close to Halfred.

"They're a couple?"

Tank and Bobby shared a look over my head. It was one of their usual loaded looks. The kind they used all the time to communicate without talking. Probably it was the kind that had helped them a heap in the jungle when they were being pursued by adversaries and needed to keep quiet. To me, though, it was just frustrating. And their unison response to my question didn't help either.

"Somewhat," they said.

_**A gold star to anyone who can correctly guess the POV for the next chapter. There is a DEFINITE pattern.**_


	35. Chapter 35

_So, it's New Years Eve here in Australia. I have officially finished my 52 book reading challenge for the year and I decided to write a chapter for you all since it's been a while and I have all this extra time on my hands. _

**Chapter 35**

Tank's POV

Steph was silent as we exited the room Halfred occupied. She'd asked me to accompany her down the hall to the vending machine and I had a bad feeling. It had been months since we'd had any kind of interaction and now suddenly here we all were together again and she was singling me out with a serious look in her eye – not the usual look she gets when she's about to buy candy. I could only guess how well whatever conversation she had prepared would go, especially after her reaction to Diana, or more aptly, Diana's reaction to Steph. I kept pace with her easily as we made our way to the machine, knowing that she preferred to be walked with than followed as was our custom. She said nothing as she dug change out of her purse and inserted it into the coin slot, but I could tell by the way she punched the buttons and flicked a stay curl out of her face that she was agitated.

"What the hell, Tank?" she finally muttered, straightening from retrieving the packet of M&amp;Ms she'd just paid for. "What the actual hell?" I stayed quiet, unsure exactly of what she was referring to. "You know, just because I requested you not interfere with my life doesn't mean I want you stand idly by while I'm being strangled by a crazed woman."

"She's not a crazed wo-" I tried to defend her, but she held up a hand to cut me off.

"She tackled me to the wall because I was too close to Halfred? If she's not crazy, I'm not a brunette," she spat. "Furthermore, I was in real danger of being injured and you just leaned against the wall casually. You both did!" Her hands were beginning to fly about in typical Italian fashion and I was grateful that she had not yet opened her packet of M&amp;Ms because they would be all over the floor and I would feel obligated to buy her a new packet.

I sighed, she had a point, but I was sure Diana would do her no harm. Although at first glance she would have only seen a woman standing at Halfred's bedside, chuckling softly, once she'd tackled Steph she would have had plenty of time to recognise her for who she was and wouldn't have deliberately done anything to hurt her. "You were in no danger," I tried to assure her, but Steph was not convinced.

"No danger?" she said. "_No_ danger?!" She shook her head, her voice rising. "She was fucking strangling me, Tank. Don't even bother trying to deny it or reason it away, because you weren't the one in the vice like grip. She was strangling me. I know what it feels like, I've been strangled before."

Not sure what else I could say to that, I muttered, "I wouldn't have let it get that far."

She scoffed and tore into the packet, emptying half the chocolates into her mouth at once and chewing angrily as she glared at me. I was sure she was gearing up to cut me back out of her life and never speak to me again because of my stupid decision not to get involved and risk my own balls at Diana's hands, but when she finally swallowed and flicked that curl out of her face once more, it was like she had flicked a switch and her anger was gone. I knew better than to think I was out of the woods, she would keep it stored away for another time, but clearly there was something else on her mind now that she needed me to explain.

"So you never answered my question," Steph informed me, staring into her bag of M&amp;M like she was trying to find the best colour to eat. This had to be awkward for her. She'd left us all on the dust while she tried to figure out her life and deal with her grief and now here she was back, in amongst it, without all the details she needed to properly make sense of the situation that had just occurred.

"Which question was that?" I asked, keeping my eyes directed forward so she wouldn't feel like I was staring at her. There was no point in making her feel more uncomfortable that she already did. My hope was that if we showed her we could be respectful of her needs and her feelings she might decide that she could tolerate our presence in her life again. I'd have to try extra hard after my fuck up with the Diana thing but, I knew the guys missed her like crazy, so I had to man up. Things just weren't the same around the office without Ranger and Steph. Don't get me wrong, I knew that things would never be the same as before Ranger died, but without Steph there, it just wasn't right.

"Since when does RCM Seurity hire women?" she repeated her question from earlier.

"She's been with Rangeman since the beginning," I confessed.

She looked up from her candy then, and even with my eyes forward, I saw the way her brows raised into her hairline. "Beginning?" she asked. "Like, from the get go? Start up? Rangeman ground zero?"

"Yep," I confirmed.

"How come I never met her before?" she demanded.

I shrugged. I had no idea. Given how curious Steph is and how nosy Diana is I would have thought they'd stumble on each other before long, but apparently I was wrong. "She spends most of her time at the Miami office," I said, as if that explained it. But Steph was as quick on the uptake as she always was.

"Most?" she said. "Most of her time. Does that mean she spent some amount of time in Trenton?" I nodded that she was correct, which prompted the next question I knew was coming. "Was she ever at Trenton while I was living there?"

"Probably," I said. I couldn't recall a specific time it had happened, but I was sure it had. As the Miami Manager she was required to attend the management meetings, and while a lot of the time they were done by conference call, at least once a year the managers of all three branches gathered at one branch in person.

"Ranger once said he'd never found a woman worthy of hiring before," she informed me, her tone sad as she spoke of her late fiancé. "But-"

I shook my head with a small smile and turned to look at her for the first time since leaving Halfred's room. In the split second before I opened my mouth to speak I registered the sadness in her eyes. She thought he'd lied to her. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it _was_ the first time since his death almost a year ago, and unlike all the other times she'd thought he'd wronged her, Ranger wasn't here to defend his actions. "No one would ever think Diana is worthy of hiring. She's crass and doesn't take direction well."

"But Ranger hired her," she pointed out.

"Technically, she appointed herself as a member of staff and we all just went along with it," I admitted.

"Why?"

I raised a single eyebrow at her. "If you knew her you'd get it," I said lamely. She was one of the most aggressive non-terrorists Rangeman had ever encountered. As Ranger always muttered after spending any amount of time with her, _Thank God she's on our side._

"Well I don't know her," she responded, stuffing her bag of candy into her pocket and dragging her fingers through her hair, dislodging it from the loose ponytail she'd secured it in. "I don't know her because – because-."

"Hey," I said, laying a hand on her shoulder to try stop what I knew she was trying to say. "Ranger didn't keep her from you deliberately. It just happened. You've never met Hugh, the manager of the Boston branch, either, but you don't seem to have a problem with that."

"Is Hugh a woman?" she demanded.

Shaking my head, I had to laugh, because I finally understood what the heart of her current problem was. She thought Ranger kept Diana from her because of a romantic past. "Oh, girlie, if you think for one minute that Ranger and Diana ever had a thing you have a very poor opinion of his standards. Ranger would never, in a million years, go out with that woman."

"He's right, you know," one of the twin's voice drifted down the hall. He'd stuck his head out the door to check on us and apparently decided that his opinion needed to be added to the conversation. Now he was striding toward us, a shit eating grin on his face. If we weren't in a hospital, I probably would have punched him in the gut. With my metal fist. "From what I heard, the Big Boss definitely never went out with Diana. Tank here, though? He totally tapped that." He considered his words while I considered punching him regardless of the setting. "Actually, that's speaking too strongly of Tank's standing in the relationship. By all accounts by men in the Tankman office, Diana allowed Tank to tap that."

Steph's eyes bugged out of her head so comically that I was almost willing to let Jim's – or Tim's I wasn't entirely sure which was standing in front of me right now - misdemeanour slide. "You?" she said, pointing at me with one hand. "And _her_?" Using her other hand, she pointed back down the hall. "Together?"

"It wasn't one of my finer decisions," I said.

"Apparently, he was like a lost puppy," Jim/Tim explained gleefully. "He'd follow her anywhere. And I heard she dumped him because he wasn't tough enough."

A thought appeared to dawn on her face, followed by a slow, almost evil smile, the kind that always came out when she was conspiring against someone, usually with Lester's help. "No wonder things with you and Lula didn't work out. You're afraid of strong women!"

"I'm not afraid of strong women," I said, trying for all my worth to not sound defensive. A defensive tone would only egg her on.

"Lula was calling all the shots and you could barely loosen your throat enough to squeak. You were practically paralysed! You must have been so scared that she'd dump you the same way Diana did!" she said gleefully.

It was odd, seeing her go from irate victim, to curious bystander, hurt widow and now mocking friend all in the space of a few minutes, but I wouldn't have traded the experience for the world. Just standing in Steph's presence loosened muscles that had been tightened for months without a break. She was a balm to so many stresses, and I knew the other men felt the same way. I let her have her fun and mock me until Bobby stuck his head out of the room.

"We're being kicked out," he said. "It's too late for visiting hours, so we're lucky they let us stay this long."

I nodded my understanding and turned to ask Steph if she wanted me to drive her home or if she thought she was okay to drive, but she was already striding back into the room, Jim/Tim hot on her heels.

When I re-entered a moment later, Steph was standing against the wall near the bed, probably making sure she was out of arms reach of Diana, who sat straddling Halfred's hips. I didn't want to mention that the meagre distance she was keeping would be nothing to the woman if she had any intention of attacking her again, it seemed rather pointless.

"Anyway," Steph was saying, diligently keeping her eyes on her injured friend and not his mad girlfriend. "You get better. No more face planting. And I'll see you when I see you."

Halfred smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Thanks for looking after me," he said, rather boldly, I thought, given the position of the relentless woman who was extremely possessive of him. "Maybe when I'm out we can meet for coffee and have a conversation that isn't interrupted by the instruction to breathe deeply and rela- ow!" He glared over at Diana. A brave move. "I'm allowed to have friends," he scolded her, but too Steph he amended, "Or maybe you could just come to Rangeman and we could hang out in the control room in full view of all security cameras and men."

Steph's eyebrows rose as she took in the interaction between man and woman, and I was pretty sure I heard her mutter something about not getting a word in edgewise, but I couldn't be certain. And then the nurse was there, shooing us away. Diana stayed behind as we all shuffled out into the hall once more. Jim and Tim her jabbering away about something or other. Bobby had his hands tucked into his pockets and Steph was digging in the side pocket of her tote bag.

"I can't find my keys," she said exasperatedly, dropping her hands to her side as she looked up from her task. "I always keep them in this pocket."

"I have them," I explained, removing the item from my own pocket and holding them out to her. "You're okay to drive now?" I asked, recalling her earlier shakiness as the reason I had her keys.

"Fine," she assured me, holding out a decidedly steady hand for me to hand over her keys. "But before I go, we have to discuss something."

I glanced over my shoulder to where the nurse was standing, arms crossed over her chest as her foot tapped on the ground impatiently. "I'll walk you do your car," I said, then addressed Jim and Tim. "Don't leave without me, we need to retrieve a couple of cars from the yoga studio before we head back to Trenton." The nodded and I expected them to go on ahead, but they just trailed behind us as I walked beside Steph. I was about to snap at them to take a hike when she started talking regardless of the company.

"Julie has been asking to come visit," she started, pulling out her M&amp;Ms and stuffing one in her mouth. "All of us," she clarified. "She wants to spend a weekend with me 'and the guys'."

"Fine by me," I assured her, because I already knew about this desire and had even spoken to Julie about what specifically she wanted to do with her weekend at RCM Security. "Did you have a date in mind?" I already knew the answer to this too, but I thought I'd let her say it.

"Well, she has school holidays week after next, so we thought that would be a good time. That way she wouldn't have to worry about being back for school on Monday." Which is exactly what I'd told Julie. "So she's organised her flights for a week from Saturday."

"You said she wants to hang out with all of us?" Bobby piped up from behind us.

Steph nodded, biting her lip as she looked around, almost anxiously. "Is that alright? Are you all free? I meant to call you sooner but I-"

I shook my head. "I understand. It's been hard for you. Don't worry. I'll clear the men's schedules. But…" I wasn't sure how to bring up the next part. I was pretty sure Julie didn't know about how little interaction we'd had lately.

"Julie doesn't know about my freeze out," she said, saving me from having to bring it up. "I know I haven't told her, and she said that Lester said he and I had had a fight recently and weren't talking. I assume he said this only to explain away the awkwardness at the party the other week."

"Right," Bobby said. "That makes sense. So Julie doesn't know about-"

"Anything, really," Steph finished for him. "I didn't want to make her worry. I mean, she's only sixteen. So could we, I don't know, try to play happy families while she's here?"

Bobby sent me a look that clearly told me to agree to whatever terms she offered. "Sure," I agreed, dutifully. "We can do whatever you like."

"Great," she said, looking and sounding relieved. "I'll be staying in the seventh floor apartment that weekend, if that's okay? It makes more sense for us all to be together if the intent is to spend the weekend together."

Bobby and I both nodded. "I'll have Ella make sure it's ready for you," Bobby mentioned.

_**I have a vague plan for the next chapter, but it may take a while to execute it properly. Bear (Bare? I always get confused of which is the right bear to use in this situation...) with me.**_


	36. Chapter 36

_Just so you all know, I left some characters in the book I'm currently reading (Gregor and the Code of Claw by Suzanne Collins, if you must know) in serious danger, because my muse demanded I write. So here's a chapter and I'm off to save some kids from some giant, murderous rats._

**Chapter 36**

Steph's POV

I pulled into the driveway early Friday evening and came to a complete stop in front of the closed gate as I rummaged in the glovebox for the fob I knew I kept there. After several moments I remembered that the fob was kept in the glovebox of my _old_ car. The one that had died a horrible death in the carpark of the hardware store several months ago. The way I saw it, I now had two options: Stick my head out the window and wave at the security camera, or go park on the street until I could get a replacement. I chose option B.

With my duffle bag hiked over my shoulder, I crossed the street and pushed through the tinted glass door of the lobby. I'd never spent much time in the lobby, since the parking garage was the standard entrance and exit of the building. It was spacious and grand with marble floors and the typical array of greenery you would expect from a hotel lobby. A desk was located near the back wall in front of a bank of elevators. Behind the desk sat a Merry Man I'd never met before. I was pretty sure I could have just walked right past him and made my way up to the seventh floor if he was so inclined to let me, but I felt obligated to explain my presence so he wouldn't go running to Tank or calling an intruder alert, or trying to tackle me to the ground.

"Hi there," I said, dropping my duffle on the floor beside me as I leaned on the counter. "I, uh," I dug my ID out of my purse. "I'm Stephanie Plum. I technically still have an apartment on seven and…"

"Ms Manoso," he greeted. "We expected you to enter via your usual means in the garage. Was there a problem?"

I blinked at being called Ms. Manoso, since it wasn't my name in the least, but at least he knew who I was, I guess. "Uh, yeah," I confirmed. "My key fob kinda died in a car explosion a few months ago."

He nodded his understanding. "I'll have Hector get you a replacement as soon as possible," he assured me, rising from his chair. My mouth fell open as he stood to his full height. He just kept going! I was starting to wonder how he'd fit all of that into a regular sized chair. He was taller than Tank, for sure, but nowhere near as wide. "If you'd like to step over to the elevator I can get you on your way," he said, gesturing with one long arm toward the bank of steel doors. "Unfortunately, I do not have authorisation to access the seventh floor for you, but I can send you to the fifth floor where Tank will most likely be waiting to fix things up for you."

"Thanks," I said crossing to the elevator as the doors slid open. "I'll be sure to put in a good word for you with the big guy, uh…"

"My name is Gerard," he informed me. "It's good to have you back, Ms. Manoso."

I shook my head as I stepped into the box. "It's Steph," I told him. "Call me Steph."

The doors slid closed and I was on my way to the fifth floor. A heavy sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. I had planned to go straight from the garage to the seventh floor, avoiding the highly populated space of the fifth floor for as long as possible. I'd wanted to ease myself into this weekend, which was why I was arriving now. I wanted to spend a little bit of time with the guys before Julie arrived tomorrow morning, catching up. Going straight to the fifth floor without passing go or collecting two hundred dollars what not part of that plan. Of course, the original plan had involved me still having the fob that had perished in my old car.

I barely had time to process the fact that I would likely be engulfed by a group of men before the doors were sliding open once more. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I picked up my duffle bag once more and took a step, intending to go find Tank for his assistance. I needn't have bothered, though, as he stepped into the elevator before I could even replace my foot and took the bag from my hand, waving his key fob over the sensor on the panel.

"Hey," I greeted awkwardly.

"Hey," he returned.

"We still on for dinner tonight?" I asked.

"We'll be there at seven," he assured me. "Ella is making your favourite."

A smile graced my lips, and I saw Tank mirroring my expression in the reflection of the doors. It was a joke. We all knew that anything Ella cooked could be classed as my favourite. Her ability to tantalise my taste buds was above and beyond the call of duty. But I wasn't complaining. It'd been months since I'd savoured one of her meals and I was looking forward to seeing what she had in store for me.

Just then the doors opened, revealing the entrance hall of the seventh floor. I suddenly found myself rooted to the spot. My legs felt like they were made of stone, unable to move as I stared at the front door I had shared with Ranger.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Tank asked.

Somehow, his offer broke the spell that had bound my legs and I took a jerky step forward. "No," I said firmly. "I can do this on my own. I'll see you at seven." I nodded, as if I was confirming my words for myself as well. I took the bag from Tank's hand and exited the elevator, he followed long enough to fob the door unlocked and then returned to the box.

"If you need anything you know where I'll be," he said as the doors closed.

Alone with the door, I just stared for the longest time. It was in pristine condition, not that I expected anything less of the Rangeman, I mean RCM Security building. Everything was always pristine. Ella wouldn't allow anything less. The inside of the apartment was probably in the same condition as always: fresh flowers on the sideboard, staple food items in the fridge, and toiletries in the bathroom. But there was one thing that had me hesitating.

Ranger's presence in the apartment had always been a living thing. It had lingered for months after his death, even as I began to clear out items that there was no sense in me keeping. His scent permeated the air long after his was gone and at every turn I could clearly picture the way his body interacted in reaction to its surroundings. The way his hips swerved to the left to avoid the handle of the umbrella that perpetually stuck out of the umbrella stand at an odd angle. (I don't even know why we had an umbrella stand, it wasn't like we were stepping straight out of the apartment and into the weather. And furthermore all fleet vehicles and by extension, my vehicles always seemed to come with a standard supply of items; travel umbrella included.) The way he'd glance at the reflection in the photos on the wall every time he past. It always looked like he was checking his appearance, but I knew he wasn't that vain. He was checking reflections out of habit. It was a surveillance thing. An awareness of the surroundings thing. I tended to check the reflections as well, but generally, I got distracted by the horrendous state of my hair.

The lingering sense of Ranger was what ultimately drove me to move out. I couldn't deal with my emotions properly when I kept waking up in the night with the feeling that he was just out in the kitchen getting a bottle of water. I needed to distance myself from the things that reminded me of him on a daily basis. I needed to remove myself from the situation until I could get a handle on myself.

Now, standing in front of the door once more, I still wasn't sure I had that handle I'd been seeking all those months ago, but I was in a better headspace. Regardless, I was dreading what I would feel when I re-entered the apartment after so long.

I knew that all I had to do was say the word and Tank would organise for me to use one of the apartments on the fourth floor for the weekend, but it seemed like a pointless effort. I was staying at Rangeman to spend time with Julie. Julie who wasn't at all aware of how badly I'd been handling my post Ranger life. Julie who was so excited to come visit and hang out and catch up and do all the things teenagers were keen to do. If I was staying on the fourth floor, she would immediately know something was wrong. I wasn't going to pretend that I'd never moved out. There was no point to that lie, but I had be okay with living in the space her father had created at least for the weekend. Maybe with Julie there with me it would be a bit better.

Taking a yoga breath, I finally screwed all my courage to the sticking place and opened the apartment door. I let it close behind me as I set my duffle down on the floor and my handbag on the side table next to the dish that usually held at least one set of keys. On automatic pilot, I started removing my shoes and tucking them into the bottom of the cupboard behind the door. Once they were off, I straightened and just took a moment to let the feel of the apartment sink into my pores.

It still smelled like him.

Of all the things I'd expected to encounter with this homecoming, I never even thought of his smell. I'd lived almost eleven months without so much as a hint of Bulgari and that unmistakable Ranger smell. But it was all that filled my nostrils. I breathed deeply, letting it fill my lungs and slid down to the floor.

For the longest time I just sat there and let all the emotions I'd been holding in for so long wash over me. Tears were streaming down my face and it was difficult to breathe. A few months ago, this would have been the point where I went for a run or held my breath under the surface of the bathwater, to give a real physical reason for the pain in my chest other than the grief that had claimed me. Now, though, I just let it consume me. Every cell in my body ached with Ranger's absence as sat on the floor in the entrance way.

After a while, I flattened out onto my back, taking up the Night Time Goddess Stretch I'd learned in yoga. It was supposed to help you relax and clear your mind. I often used it in conjunction with a couple of other poses before bed to help me sleep, but this alone was sufficient in calming me at that moment. My tears dried. My breathing evened out. My muscles let go of their tension. I was almost ready to get up and face some more of the apartment when there was a knock on the door.

My first thought was that I'd wasted so much time freaking out that it was already seven o'clock and Tank, Lester and Bobby had arrived for dinner. I hadn't even made it to the kitchen yet and they were here to fill the space and block some of the natural energy of the apartment I was hoping to come to terms with before they arrived.

A frustrated growl left my lips as I staggered to my feet, entirely ungracefully, and peeked through the peep hole I'd never saw the need for before. I mean, come on, it's the top floor of a completely secure building and we have remote access to the security footage from the cameras posted anywhere on the premises, but we'll just look out this little peep hole right here.

The person I found in the lobby was not Tank, Bobby and Lester, but Hector. He was staring directly at the peep hole with his pale, unwavering eyes. It was scary. Then he just raised an eyebrow and held up a key fob. I wasted no time in opening the door.

"For you," he said simply, handing over the device. "It is programmed the same as last one."

"Thanks," I said, tucking the fob into the back pocket. I cast around for something to say. Something that didn't seem completely lame, but all I could think of was, "I missed you."

His grin was so wide and genuine that it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Of course you did," he assured me. "I missed you, too." He opened his arms a little in a clear request for a hug and I stepped right into it without hesitation. We weren't what you'd call close, Hector and me, but we had a weird bond. He always seemed to know exactly what I needed at any given moment. And in times when _I_ wasn't even sure what I needed, it was a real comfort to know that someone was looking out for me. Probably, Hector was a mind reader or something, but I was okay with that. In a Post-Ranger World where I and everything around me was in a state of flux and I often couldn't tell up from down, I probably should kept at least him around.

"We're, uh, having dinner tonight," I stated as he released me. "BLT are coming up. You're welcome to join, if you liked. I'm sure there'll be more than enough for one extra."

Hector was already shaking his head before I'd even gotten the invitation out. His eyes were still twinkling. "No, Estefania," he said softly. "You need to reconnect with them first. The rest of us will come later." And with that, he kissed me on each cheek and turned away, slipping through the stairwell door without a sound.

Returning to the apartment, which was just as silent as Hector's exit, I headed straight for the sound system in the living room. An iPod was still set in the dock. It was the one we always kept there to save having mine out of my bag or his out of, well, wherever the hell he'd kept it. I knew he'd had one, and he could produce it at a moment's notice, but it wasn't kept in any logical place that I could see. I hadn't even found it while riffling through his belongings after the funeral. Now _there_ was a mystery.

I set the iPod to shuffle and hit play just for some background noise to cover up the absolute stillness of the apartment. The song that emitted from the state of the art speakers was not any of the rock or pop I had loaded on the device, but one of Ranger's many soothing classical pieces. For a moment I just stood and listened, the music seeped through my veins, then I turned and made my way back to the hall and across to the kitchen.

I inspected the cupboards, the drawers, the fridge, everything was just as I'd expected to find it, peanut butter and Oreos in the cupboards, along with my not so secret stash of Butterscotch Krimpets. All the utensils were located exactly where they always had been. And in the fridge was an array of fresh fruit and vegetables, bottled water and a few ready-made snacks and meals. Ella had thought of everything. And I could only guess that she provided the fresh, healthy foods for nostalgia's sake, since I would never have willingly eaten them in my past life.

I took my time going over the other rooms. Living room, storage closet, even Ranger's home office. I had no problem sitting behind his desk, and looking through his drawers. But there was one section of the house I was avoiding. The most intimate part. The part where we'd shared our inner most selves. The bedroom. I just couldn't bring myself to breach that threshold just yet.

And I was saved from doing so, because just as I'd finished check out the small second bedroom Ranger had added in recent years to accommodate for Julie when she visited, there was a knock on the door, followed by a short pause and then three very familiar voices arguing about god only knew what.

Switching off the light, I padded back through the apartment, taking a moment to kick the duffel bag under the side table before peeking through the peep hole. Tank stood facing the door, arms – one flesh and bone, one mechanical – crossed over his chest, rolling his eyes. Bobby and Lester appeared to be bickering behind his back, but all it took was for Tank to raise his robotic arm for them to quiet down.

"She's watching us," Tank rumbled, looking directly at the peep hole.

How the hell do they do that?

I opened the door and crossed my arms, mirroring Tank's stance. "How do you do that?" I asked.

"It's a sixth sense," he replied without even a hint of humour. That was Tank for you. Everything was a serious matter.

"That or his robo-arm has a scanner that he hasn't told us about," Lester piped up from behind him. "That's probably why his arm's so big. It's full of secrets."

"Hi Lester," I said, rather sheepishly. The last time I'd been in the same room as him, I'd pretty much ignored his presence, and I kinda felt bad for that, given that not even a week later I was offering Cal one of my muffins. Then again, I'd ignored everyone for a lot of months. It just felt more personal, what with all the coaxing Julie had done that night.

"Hey Beautiful," Lester grinned, rocking back on his heels and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Apart from the fact that we'd just greeted each other more formally than we ever had in all the time we'd known each other, it felt like no time had passed. Like I hadn't treated him like shit for the last year.

It was Bobby's turn to roll his eyes, now. "Geez," he muttered. "Just hug it out, you know you want to."

Lester glanced from his partner to me warily. Like he didn't want to do anything without my permission. Suddenly, he seemed tense. The thought of accidentally offending me, now that I was talking to him again, clearly terrified him.

I sighed and threw my hands out to the side, deciding to pretend everything was fine. If I pushed the awkwardness away, maybe it would disappear. "Well I don't know what you're waiting for," I said, trying to sound exasperated. And in the next second I was not so much enveloped in his arms as thrown over his shoulder and carried into the kitchen.

_**Happy New Year BTW! And thanks for everyone's support.**_


	37. Chapter 37

_So I lied last chapter. I told you all I was off to save the poor characters in the book I'm reading, but I didn't. I literally sat here and wrote this chapter (I'm writing this not four hours after posting the previous chapter, though I won't be posting this for at least another ten hours. After I sleep). It happened so effortlessly. I wish every chapter came as easily._

**Chapter 37**

Cal's POV

I was on reception duty from 2am til 7am. It was probably the most boring job in the entire company. Nothing ever happened in the lobby during that time except the street runners that head out at about five and return anywhere from half an hour to an hour later. Mostly, I use the time to catch up on my reading. I mean, it wasn't like I had to pay attention to any kind of security footage like the guys on monitors. I just had to be at the desk on the off chance that someone walked through the door. Or wanted to walk through the door, as it were. I'd need to use my fob to let anyone in, since it was after hours. Not that RCM Security – I still hate that name – technically _had _an afterhours period. Since we were operational twenty four hours a day, but hey, it was my job for the night and that's what I had to do.

I was catching up on the adventures of Clint Barton and Kate Bishop – Hawkeye and Hawkeye – when men started trickling through the stairwell door and out onto the street. The usual suspects were all there. Jameson, Nexo, Ghost, Starzy. Along with some not so usual suspects who apparently needed to change up their routine a little. And then, just at the tail end of the twenty minute gap in which everyone who was leaving the building to run for the sake of running would leave, Stephanie Plum stepped out of the elevator dressed in running shorts and a sports bra with an iPod strapped to her upper arm and crossed to the desk.

"I'm going out," she informed me, adjusting the iPod holder. She looked tired. Like she hadn't slept at all the night before. It was not the kind of look I was used to seeing on her face after spending a night on seven. Even back when Ranger was still alive, but was out of contact on a mission, she emerged from the apartment looking more well-rested than she did now. I started to wonder whether she was better off keeping her separate life now. There was no telling what kind of memories had assaulted her last night, especially when you consider that that apartment is where she did the majority of her grieving. "In case Tank comes looking for me," she added and took a single step away from the desk before turning back to me once more, tapping a small, discreet device clipped to the waistband of her shorts. "And don't worry, I have a panic button just in case."

"Where are you going?" I asked, bewildered. Surely she wasn't _actually_ going out running. Her attire suggested it, but I just couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. This was the woman who would face the wrath of Tank before she would willing move at more than a walking pace.

"For a run," she said, slipping an ear bud into one ear and then the other as she approached the outer door. "I won't be long," she called over her shoulder as she fobbed it open and stepped out onto the street. To my disbelief, she proceeded to stand there and run through a few warm-up stretches before she jogged out of sight.

The moment she was gone, I placed a call up to control.

"Tankman control," the man on duty announced. "Tim speaking."

"Tim," I said, stalling for just a moment as I tried to figure out exactly what I was doing. "I need someone to do a quick coffee and donut run for me."

Tim chuckled. "You know the rules, sir," he said. "No refined sugars on the premises."

"It's not for me," I said. "It's for Stephanie Plum. She stayed on the seventh floor last night and didn't sleep well. I'm sure she could use a pick-me-up."

"You know what, sir," Tim said good naturedly. "I don't care what they others say. You're pretty smart. I'll have Jim duck over to Dunkin Donuts right now. What does the lady prefer?"

I decided to ignore his comment, knowing that he and his brother were as big a stirrer as Lester Santos. "She prefers the Tasty Pastry over on Hamilton," I informed him tersely. "Boston Crèmes and a long black. Make sure it's a large. I have a feeling she's gonna need it."

"Yessir," Tim agreed, and I had the odd feeling that he was mock saluting me down the phone line. I wouldn't put it past the joker.

Half an hour later, when a red faced, sweating Steph came puffing back into the lobby, several tendrils of hair plastered to her neck, there was a to-go cup of hot coffee and a white bakery bag waiting for her on the counter in front of me.

"How was your run?" I asked as she bent at the waist, treating me to a view of more cleavage than I was comfortable with.

She looked up at me without straightening. "I'll let you know when I can breathe again," she panted. "Why do I torture myself like this?"

"I was just about to ask the same question," I replied as she finally stood up straight so I could stop averting my eyes. "I did, however, take the liberty of ordering a coffee and donut delivery for you." I held out the items, holding her gaze for the longest moment as I tried to ascertain if she was alright with what I'd done. It had been a long time and things had always been a bit hit or miss when it came to us doing things without her consent.

Just as I was beginning to panic, thinking I'd gone and dug us back into a hole, and she was going to just turn around and walk away, she smiled and took the packets. "Thanks," she said with a small smile. "I appreciate it." We exchanged a few more pleasantries while she sipped the coffee and then she was off on her way back upstairs, to shower presumably.

Not long after, just as Hawkeye was sighing over his spilt coffee again, Tank appeared beside my desk. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a bottle green v-neck t-shirt. He didn't even have his arm strapped on yet. Clearly wasn't planning on working today, not that I could blame him. Ranger's daughter was due to arrive at Newark Airport at 9am and the whole core team had a weekend pass, barring any dire emergencies. Personally, I thought it was a great idea. The three of them had worked relentlessly for years. I couldn't remember the last time any of them had a break, certainly not in the last twelve months. They needed this time, and hopefully with Julie there, and Steph back in the fold, we could make some headway in the field of restoring some sort of normality. Although Tank did a fantastic job of managing the branch and, the company as a whole, he was never built to sit behind a desk all day, which is what he ended up doing most days.

"So she went for a run?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"Half an hour."

"Anything else?"

"She looked tired before she headed out," I said, describing her appearance when she passed my desk the first time. "She obviously didn't sleep well."

"Can you blame her?" he asked. "Yesterday when Bobby, Lester and I arrived on seven for dinner, I don't think she'd even breached the bedroom yet. She's got to be reliving all sorts of pain being back in that apartment."

"We shouldn't try to hold her back when she leaves after this weekend." I suggested, putting into words the thoughts that had been running through my head for the last ten minutes. "Hopefully just by having this weekend, she'll be more inclined to spend time with us, but we can't try to force her to stay here."

Tank stared at me a moment, blinked slowly, then said the most frustrating thing I'd ever heard. "Tim's right. You're smart."

*o*

Hours later, I was awoken from my post-night shift nap by the sound of grown men shouting and groaning and shouting again. There was the sound of raucous laughter and cheering. It was not the usual silence of the residential floor I was used to. Even when a few guys gathered for a bit of a party, or celebration, there was little in the way of noise travelling through the space. Everyone was acutely aware of the fact that there could be up to fifteen men sleeping on the floor at any one given time, and having been on night shift themselves, were respectful of the need to get quality, uninterrupted rest.

I rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats over my boxers, before leaving my private apartment and following the noise pollution to the common room, a large space filled with couches, chairs, beanbags and other such luxuries. There was a large flat screen the took up the majority of one wall, and a cabinet off to the side housed a DVD, BluRay, X-Box, Playstation and Wii. It was essentially the place where men came to chill out and hang. And if they could defeat a few dwarves at the same time, then all the better.

Usually, there were no more than six guys in the common room. Today, it was packed. Literally. As I came to the doorway there was only enough room before me to take a single step. Men were standing shoulder to shoulder, no room for anyone else. Curious, I pushed through a few men to see what all the fuss was about. I muscled my way through several layers of men but was thrown off track when something dramatic happened up front and everyone was shouting and throwing their hands up in the air.

"You're being beat by a girl!" someone nearby called.

"You call yourself a champion!" someone else jeered.

"You volunteer as tribute and _this_ is how you represent us?" still another complained.

Apparently there was some kind of competition – of the video game variety, I could only assume – and we were losing. I wasn't surprised. Despite the amount of time many of the men spent playing the consoles that were so generously provided to us, they weren't all that good at it. Lester was probably the best of a bad bunch.

As the crowd settled down, I squeezed through a few more men and finally got a clear picture of what was happening. Sitting cross-legged on large cushions on the floor, holding X-Box controllers out in front of them, like the distance from their bodies helped with accuracy, were Lester Santos and Julie Manoso. On the screen two marvel characters were battling in a one on one combat. And based on the comments I'd just heard, Lester was losing.

On the nearest couch to the front, Bobby, Tank and Steph sat. Bobby was leaning forward yelling pointers and/or abuse at him. Tank was silent and assessing as usual. And Steph. Well, Steph appeared okay, from what I could see of her. She was dressed in faded jeans and blue top, her hair pulled back into the messy ponytail she'd been most known for back in the day. Honestly, it was as if I'd been transported back in time. All I needed was for Ranger to walk in and tell us all to get back to work, and I'd have to believe that I was either a year in the past or I was still lying in bed dreaming.

But as I watched the group at the front, Steph took a deep breath, ran a hand over her face and stood from the couch. She said something to Tank, who nodded slightly, and then she was pushing through the crowd of men much the same way I had just moments ago. Of course the reaction of the men was vastly different. Whereas I had to force my way between them, the guys instinctively shuffled to the side to let her pass without incident. Within moments she was out of the room. I tried shoving back through the throng of male bodies, to see if she was alright, but no one was willing to move even an inch now. It seemed that once you were in, you were in for the long haul. No amount of pressure could open up a passage large enough for me to get through.

_**Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed. Now I really am off to save those characters.**_


	38. Chapter 38

_So, the work year started today. Boy was I not prepared for the 5am wake up after sleeping till ten all last week. Have fun with this extra long chapter._

Steph's POV

I couldn't sleep Friday night. It wasn't that I wasn't comfortable. The couch was ridiculously luxurious, even when being used as a bed. No. My problem was the familiar, Ranger-centric surroundings. The apartment that was as much a part of him as he was a part of it. I still hadn't brought myself to enter the bedroom by midnight and finally admitted to myself that I wasn't ready to do it as I snagged a spare pillow and blanket from the hall closet and proceeded to make the couch up for sleeping.

But sleep, I could not.

I lay there an hour, two, three. At the three and half mark I got up and relieved myself in the tiny, little-used powder room between the storage closet and Julie's room, then I stood in the hall outside the master bedroom, a soft glow emitting from the lamp I'd left on in the living room down the hall. I can't tell you how long I stared at the black space of the doorway, willing myself to at least reach in and turn on the light, before a yawn escaped my throat and I slid my back down the wall, somehow falling asleep sitting there.

Inevitably, the nightmares came. I stood on the street, staring up at the tall building, at the shadow of a man in the window of one of the upper floors. Whoever it was moved slowly, deliberately, carefully, as though they were trying to not draw attention to themselves. I saw him reach behind his back, presumably to retrieve a gun, but before he could loose it from the back of his pants, three loud cracks split the air – the unmistakeable sound of gunshots – and a rain of glass fell all around me.

Holding up my hand, I managed to shield my eyes from the shards as I watched the figure fall in agonising slow motion, almost frame by frame, to the ground. I let out a belated cry of shock as the body slammed into the pavement several feet away and sprinted across the short distance to see if the man was okay.

But it wasn't a man.

There, lying broken on the ground in a pool of their own blood, was a woman. A woman I knew all to well. It was me. My own vacant eyes staring up at me.

I jerked awake as I had so many nights in the last year, a scream on my lips. Blindly, I scrambled to my feet, knowing I was not in my bed, not even in comfort of my own home. As my frantic gaze adjusted to the dark, it fell on the pitch black rectangle before me. The doorway that had tormented me before I'd finally succumbed to sleep, and then continued to torment me as I dreamed. I backed away from it, down the hall to the bathroom where I splashed water on my face, but then decided I really _wasn't_ coping and proceeded to vomit into the toilet.

When I was done, I splashed my face once more, brushed my teeth and avoided looking at the darkened bedroom doorway as I made my way through the apartment to the kitchen.

I drank a bottle of water and ate an apple I found in the crisper to settle my stomach and noted that it was already five AM. I may as well go for a run to clear my head before I had to pretend to be my old, merry self again for the weekend.

*0*

By seven thirty, I was showered and dressed and in the kitchen baking mini chocolate chip muffins when there was a knock on the door.

"Let yourself in!" I called, knowing there was a very limited number of people it could be as I retrieved one tray of cooked muffins from the oven while balancing the next to go in my other hand. It was a familiar act after months of trial and error (Making sure I used the gloved hand for the hot tray) and I was doing well, until an alarmed voice cried out from behind me.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Startled, I dropped both trays, narrowly avoiding burning myself as they fell with a clatter. Hot, fresh muffins rolled over the kitchen floor while gooey batter splattered over the lower cupboards.

"Shit," I uttered, hopping back out of the way and almost falling against the still open oven door.

"Fuck," Bobby agreed as he rounded the bench to survey the damage. "Sorry," he added. "I freaked out. Not used to seeing you wielding oven trays." He leaned down to pick one up, clearly intending to start the clean up process, but let out a hiss of pain instead, quickly straightening empty handed.

"Hot oven trays," I said with a slight eye roll as he picked he way over to the sink to run his burnt hand under the tap. "As in fresh from the hot oven." I closed the oven door and flipped the dials until everything was turned off. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he assured me, pulling his appendage from the stream of cold water to examine it. "What are you doing?" he asked again, though his tone was much milder than a minute ago.

"I _was_ baking mini muffins," I informed him, using my still gloved hand to move the hot tray from the floor to the counter before he could attempt to injure himself on it again. "They're ruined now."

"Sorry," he repeated, gingerly picking up the other, cooler tray and dumping it in the sink that was now filling with warm soapy water.

I shook my head, lifting the only muffin that had managed to maintain its place from the tray and breaking it half. "It's fine," I told him shoving one half into my mouth and chewing slowly. "I don't think I added enough cocoa powder anyway. You probably saved me some embarrassment."

Not convinced, Bobby picked up a muffin from the ground and stuffed it in his mouth. "You made these yourself?" he questioned, eye widening in disbelief. "From scratch?"

I nodded.

"They're good."

"They're dry," I countered with a roll of my eyes as I began tossing the cakes into the trash can under the counter.

"A little frosting would help with that," Bobby suggested. Unravelling a wad of paper towels from the roll and getting to work on the batter mess. "All sorts of sins can be hidden by frosting. My mom used to pass off raisin loaf as choc-chip cake with frosting. I always thought the choc-chips were a little chewy, but I was none the wiser until I was about thirteen."

I paused, crouched on the floor with one hand on the counter to keep me from toppling over as I contemplated this information. "Something tells me you're the kind of guy who would eat raisin loaf anyway," I informed him, merely thinking out loud.

This caused a bark of laughter. "You're right," he said good-naturedly. "I am."

"So to what do I owe this mess of a visit?" I asked.

"I was intending on checking to see if you'd eaten or if you wanted to stop by McDonalds for some breakfast on the way to the airport," Bobby explained. He dumped the chocolate coated towels in the bin and grabbed some more, soaking them in some water before returning to scrub at the smudges that were left. "Tank's wanting to leave soon. Traffic."

Before I could answer, there was another knock on the door and Lester's voice called out, "What's taking so long?"

"Bobby freaked out and caused a mess," I called back, summarising the happenings into one sentence. "We're just cleaning up and then we'll be down."

The door opened and Lester's head poked around the corner, one eyebrow raised out of curiosity. "Freaked out?" he asked.

"Steph was baking," Bobby explained. "I'd never seen her that close to an oven without supervision."

"Baking?" Les asked, perking up a bit. "I like baked goods, what were you making?"

"It doesn't matter," I said, shaking my head as Bobby finished off. "They're in the bin now, and they were dry anyway." I looked between the two and added. "I'll go get my purse so we can go."

"Chocolate mini muffins, bro," Bobby said in a hushed tone. "From scratch. They weren't bad."

"How come you got some?" Les asked just as quietly.

"I picked it up off the floor," Bobby explained.

*o*

Three hours later we were in Lester's apartment, a place I'd always tried to avoid. Wasn't there a saying about dirty minds and dirty houses or something? Maybe? I don't know, but it my head, because of the way Lester sprouted his inappropriateness at every opportunity, I thought his living space would reflect that in some way. Think about it. I was always disorganised and it showed in my apartment. Ranger was very zen and minimalist and the apartment reflected that (until I'd moved in and add my disorganisation to the mix). My mother was very anal, so everything in my parents' house was always exactly where it was supposed to be. It wasn't like I'd just plucked this theory from nowhere. I had evidence.

As it turns out, though, Lester's apartment on the fourth floor was kind of like a cross between a military bunk house and a geek cave. There was the element of routine and order that had dominated Ranger's apartment before it became _our_ apartment, which was obviously a holdover from his days in the military. But there was a very sophisticated looking gaming set up, a bunch of superhero figures on the shelf on the wall, a box of comic books under the coffee table. And board games.

Apparently, the men have a monthly game night, and Lester was the main provider of the games, he had everything from Dungeons and Dragons (even just trying to picture the big burly men sitting around pretending to be elves and wizards made me crack up), to snakes and ladders, to Cards Against Humanity and a game that I was pretty sure was called "Poo" but I might have misread it.

Julie had mentioned being super tired from school and just wanting to hang out and chill, so we'd all trooped into Lester's domain to find a game to play. She picked Cards Against Humanity. I'd never played, but I'd heard a lot about it from Veronica at work, so I was okay with that. Tank, on the other hand, completely freaked out, insisting she was too young to play it, that we should find something else to play. Eventually, Lester and Bobby convinced him it would be alright, they'd all be on their best behaviour. Tank still wasn't convinced, probably because he knew how foul Lester's mind could be without any effort at all, but it worked out okay. There were a few questionable card choices but nothing a sixteen year old girl of the world wouldn't know about or understand. In fact, I'm pretty sure Julie was the one making most of the inappropriate plays. Which, of course, had Tank's eye twitching double time within ten minutes.

Not long after, Tank couldn't take it anymore. He threw his cards down on the table, scattering the draw and discard piles in the process and pushed himself to his feet. "That's it," he insisted. "We're done with this game. I can't take it anymore. We're gonna play Go Fish instead."

Julie just rolled her eyes at that. "I'm not nine anymore, Tank," she retorted. "I don't play Go Fish."

"What about Snap, then?" Tank tried. I'd never seen him so out of sorts.

"Poker?" Julie suggested.

"What about Monopoly?" I said, noting the way Tank's dark complexion seemed to be turning purple.

Lester scoffed. "We're not play Monopoly, Bobby always wins."

I looked to Bobby, who shrugged in a '_what can you do?'_ kind of way and started gathering up the cards from the table. "How about video games?" he suggested. "We could go down to the common room and see what takes your fancy?"

I'd never really been into video games, but Julie's eyes started to twinkle at the prospect and was interested to see what kind of damage she could do when given a controller and set up against Lester, so I agreed with no hesitation.

The game she picked was some kind of superhero thing, where the characters fight each other either one on one or two on two, but they weren't the superheroes I was familiar with. No Batman, Superman, or Wonder Woman. These were Hulk, and Iron Man, and Captain America. I let them play two on two first, not just because I'd never played a video game and wanted to get a feel for what had to happen before I jumped in with both feet. I needed a chance to just sit back and watch and figure out my place in the group again. I'd hung out with Julie and the guys plenty of times over the years, but Ranger had always been present, and I'd found it easy to just slip into whatever was going on, because I liked the way Ranger would let his eyes smile when I did. Without Ranger there I didn't have a ready explanation of all the in jokes and old gags that they guys had with Julie and I wasn't exactly sure of my place. I wasn't _Dad's girlfriend,_ or _Dad's fiancée_. It was just Steph. And being Just Steph was different to Dad's Girlfriend, because Julie and I had no real connection anymore. The reason we'd spent time together in the past wasn't around anymore.

I watched Julie and Bobby slaughtering Lester and Tank for a while. Tank was actually doing pretty well, considering his prosthetic didn't have the full range of motion that a normal hand did, but Lester was blaming their losing streak on the _dead weight_ and insisted I take over for the man. I still had no idea what my role was in the group, but I figured playing a little video game couldn't hurt.

As it turns out I'm horrible at video games and soon Lester was calling for a one on one match with Julie to prove he _was_ actually better than her. Bobby and I gladly set down our controllers, the both of us had been the brunt of a few harsh criticisms in the last twenty minutes and were happy to step out of the line of fire. Julie was more judgemental of Bobby's video game skills than Cal was of my shooting skills on the odd occasion that I was actually forced into the gun range.

At some point, while I was distracted by the massive screen in front of me, and Lester's unhelpful words, a crowd had started to gather in the room behind us. A big crowd. There were more men in the room than I thought even worked at Rangeman, but then again, despite the amount of time I'd spent here in the past,, my exposure to all aspects of the business were pretty limited. I knew that they did more than just skip tracing and security surveillance, but I wasn't entirely sure what the rest of it was, or how big the sectors were. Apparently they were pretty large, judging by the amount of people squeezing up against each other trying to get a good view of the fight.

They weren't all on Lester's side, but the majority of them were. It was like Lester was their nominated tribute in this battle and he was representing all their honour. The fact that he was still losing to a sixteen year old girl was not pleasing them.

"You call yourself a champion?" someone complained loudly from the crowd.

"Use your special attack!" someone else suggested.

"Throw him off the roof!" the guy right behind me called when Lester started getting the upper hand. The crowd erupted, not for the first time, in cheers and shouting as they protested of encouraged their victors, but I was no longer paying attention. Those words, called so innocently from the mouth of a merry man I had never officially met, had stuck in my head, in a place where I knew they weren't going to do any good.

_Throw him off the roof_.

Unbidden, images of a man falling through the air like a ragdoll, entered my mind. Not just any man, but _the_ man. The love of my life. Ranger. The scene I'd replayed in my head a thousand times a week. The image I could never quite erase from my mind because it always came back. The whipping his hair out of the leather tie that held it. His arms and legs flailing and being shoved in weird angles. And ultimately, the landing. That sickening, gut wrenching landing.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my pulse, and ran a hand over my face to get rid of the cold sweat that had sprung up. I couldn't sit here in this room any longer. I couldn't quietly go insane while men yelled at a screen. I needed to get out of there. I needed time to calm down and deal with this sudden onslaught of emotion.

Leaning over to Tank, I informed him that I was just going to the bathroom, keeping my voice and my expression as level as I could. I'd thought it would be difficult to push through the men, there was barely enough room for a playing card between some of them, but as I made my way around the couch, a path opened up. It was like parting the black sea. As soon as I'd moved past, the gap would close back up, like it had never been there to begin with.

Once out of the room, I made a beeline for the bathroom I'd seen on my way past earlier. It was a women's bathroom, like in public places, which, I guess, is why it stuck in my mind. The only woman I'd seen working in the building was Ella. I suppose other women had at some point. Like that Diana woman, perhaps, but I wasn't up to thinking too much about it at the moment. I just needed to get to a place where I could be alone for a few minutes and calm down. Hopefully it wouldn't take any longer than a few minutes, because I knew that if I didn't return within a reasonable amount of time, they'd come looking for me.

Letting the door close behind me, I crossed to one of three sinks along the wall to the left and spun the cold tap, thanking God, or whoever was in charge of maintaining the plumbing, that the building had not been upgraded to those ridiculous push button taps with a timer that shut off before you'd even managed to do anything. I splashed the water on my face a bit, but it didn't help. It only increased my feeling of discomfort. It reminded me of the day Ranger died and the sticky wetness of his blood all over my body. So I grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and was attempting to dry my face and hands when the door opened.

I was gearing up to tell whatever Merry Man had come looking for me to go away, that I was fine, when lifted my head and spotted none other than the woman who had tackled me to the wall a week ago just for standing to close to the man who was possibly her boyfriend. (I still had not managed to clarify the vague facts Tank had given me with Halfred, since he hadn't been back at Yoga this week and I didn't know how to get in touch with him short of asking Tank for his number, and I thought that might give the wrong impression).

"Go away," I sniffed, leaning against the wall between to sinks as I rubbed at the back of my hands with the towel.

"It's a free bathroom," she retorted with a raised brow.

"Whatever," I said. I was in no mood for witty repartee. Especially not with this irritating woman. I tossed my paper towels in the bin and ran hand through my hair, avoiding looking at her as I waited for her to use the facilities or get out. Unfortunately, she did neither.

"You're having a meltdown," she observed. Apparently she didn't know what the word sensitivity meant.

"No shit, Sherlock," I muttered, but as I drew my hand away from my face I noted how wobbly it was. For some reason, the thought of this woman - this unconcerned, irrational woman – seeing the extent of my break down, did not appeal to me. Fisting my hands tightly, I shoved them into my armpits to hide their tremors.

"Sometimes talking helps," she said, drawing my attention back to her.

I wanted to scoff – the thought of spilling my guts to her, of all people, seemed ludicrous – but the only sound that managed to escape my throat was a slight sob. How could Ranger have hired this awful woman?

"Hey," she said more gently, stepping closer to me with her hands held out. It was though she was approaching a baby deer in the wild. She was trying to show that she wasn't a threat, but after the way she'd introduced herself to me, I wasn't sure I could trust her. "Hey, calm it," she said. "Is this about Ranger?"

My eyes snapped up to hers in an instant. How _dare_ she! Did she really think I was going to open my heart to her? From the comments the guys had made as we left the hospital the week before, I doubted Diana was even capable of love. There was no way I was going to let myself be victim to her ridicule.

"Of course it's about Ranger," she murmured. "Everything always comes back to Ranger these days, right? Everything reminds you of him. Being in this building must be agonising."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. For a start, she was right. And secondly, there was the fact that she appeared to be trying to be nice, and that put me on edge. I mean, she'd punched her supposed boyfriend in the balls for suggested he and I get coffee some time. I'm pretty sure she didn't really have a nice side.

She sighed heavily and pulled herself up onto the edge of one of the sinks, balancing there as easily as if she were sitting on a regular chair. She even had the audacity to cross one leg over the other. "Look, I understand if you don't like me," she said casually. "It's not like I've been the perfect pupil of pleasantries to you. But I've been where you are. I've lost someone close to me. I've had that struggle to face the world without them. I've endured the constant nightmares, the feeling of helplessness, the debilitating grief. I know it all too well." Her tone grew darker the more she spoke, her eyes focused solely on the cubicle door across from her. "I still battle with it from time to time."

This sudden vulnerability she was showing intrigued me. The character I had made her out to be in my head, given the few tidbits of information I'd received, was not the type to share personal moments with anyone. At all. But there she was, letting her emotions show. It was as shocking as the first time I'd seen one of the men cry.

I slid down the wall to the floor, not entirely sure what to do, so I just let my curiosity rule my actions and asked, "Who was it?"

"My dad," she said wistfully. "I was eleven."

"You were close?" I asked. Maybe focusing on her story would distract from my own pain.

A soft laugh fell from her lips, but the mirth didn't reach her eyes. "We were like this," she explained, glancing down at me and holding up a single finger. I didn't get it, and she must have seen the confusion on my face, because she said, "Most people say they're like this –" she held up a second finger, twined together with the first. "- with their best friend. Which they think is about as close as you can get to another person. But my dad and I were like this." She held up the single finger again. "We were practically one person. We did everything together."

I couldn't quite imagine how two people could be represented by a single finger, even if they were really close, but I had to keep her talking to stay away from the gaping dark hole inside myself. So I asked another question. The question I hated being asked the most. But it was a logical one. "How did he die?"

"Drunk driver," she replied without missing a beat, staring at the door again. Her hazel gaze was dull. Her expression slack. "He was picking me up from ballet practice." She shook her head. "I _hated_ ballet practice, but I had to go because all my sisters learned ballet, so I did too. Mom insisted. Except my class was a different night, because I younger. A lower grade. A worse dancer. So I was alone outside the studio, my bag on my back. The crisp air turning my nose red. Waiting. Dad wasn't late. I'd walked out of class early. Anything to get out of prancing around like a fool in a leotard. I spotted his truck at the end of the street and started across the parking lot. We'd worked out that if I met him at the street we cut out anywhere up to ten minutes of our commute and we could get ice cream on the way home without raising the suspicions of Mom and my sisters."

She took a deep breath before continuing. It was like she was in a trance. The calm that had come over her body was almost eery. "So I was standing on the sidewalk when a car going the opposite direction veered over the lines and hit his truck head on. They both died instantly. Directly in front of me. The crash louder than anything I'd ever heard before. My ears were ringing for weeks afterwards. The police said it was a miracle I wasn't hurt."

"You watched your dad die?" I asked, utterly in awe of how such a strong woman could have had such a devastating past. "You were eleven."

"Yes," she agreed shortly. "And I never really recovered from it. Not fully. Oh, I put on a brave face, a domineering façade, but underneath it all, in the quiet parts of my brain, I still replay that moment. I wonder what would have happened if I'd put my foot down and refused to do ballet. I wasn't any good at it, and I hated it to boot. What if I'd somehow gotten them to agree to let me do Tae Kwon Do instead? Would Dad still be alive?"

"I know that feeling," I admitted, suddenly transported back to an earlier time on the same day Ranger died. "I'd had a bad feeling about the call they were responding do. I begged him not to go. But in the end I couldn't convince him and as a result he-" I almost choked on the lump in my throat. "He plummeted six stories to his death. What if- What if I'd managed to keep him here at Rangeman? Safe. Where I could see him."

"You'll never know," Diana said softly. "Just like I'll never know. It's just something we have to live with. It never stops hurting, but it does get easier." She paused for a moment, looked down at me with a peculiar expression and announced, "But this isn't just about Ranger being dead. It's about you feeling like a fish out of water because you've avoided these men for the better part of a year."

"I-," I started, but there was nothing to protest. She was right. I was struggling to slot myself back into Rangeman life and it wasn't working. Possibly because it was RCM Security now. A name change could change dynamics, right?

Diana scooted off the edge of the sink, checked her appearance – which was flawless, by the way – in the mirror and held out a hand. "Come with me. There's some stuff you need to know."

I let her pull me to my feet. "Are you the ghost of Christmas past, present or future?" I asked, only half joking.

"It's not Christmas," she said flatly as she dragged me out the door. "But I guess all three. Now are you going to walk on your own? I'm not sure the Steph-Loyalists would approve if they saw me hauling you through the halls. They may or may not be intimidated by me, which may or may not set off their protective instincts toward you. I know you don't like being tackled to walls – trust me, Halfred has admonished me as many times as he could over that incident and I am contractually obliged to apologise for my behaviour – but you're not the only one, and I can't guarantee I'll be able to stop myself from tackling the foolish men if they do try to stop me."

I nodded dumbly, slipping my hand from her loosened grip and fell into step beside her as we reached the hall that lead to the elevator and stair well. She was back to being intimidating, and for some reason, I thought that was easier to deal with, all of a sudden. She had a don't-mess-with-me kind of attitude that was off putting, but I figured she had to put up that front to be respected in this male-driven business. And it was no wonder she was so abrasive if she'd been with the company as long as Tank said she had been.

We took the stairs up one floor, which didn't seem as bad as it used to, and came out on the comm floor. Yet another place I'd been avoiding since I'd arrived yesterday evening. The moment I stepped out the door at least three sets of familiar eyes locked on me. I gave them a little finger wave before hurrying to catch up to Diana who hadn't even paused as she emerged. Within a few moments I found myself in Tank's massive office, staring at Diana sitting behind Tank's massive desk in Tank's massive chair. She was eyeing me with a look of contemplation as she gestured for me to sit down. I felt like I'd been called to the principal's office, except the principal of my school had been a push over compared to this woman.

"Look," she stared, shifting the special computer keyboard aside so she could lay her hands on the desk. "I get that Ranger's death tipped your world upside down and you're on some kind of vision quest to find who you are without him." Almost all the sympathy she'd shared back in the bathroom was gone from her tone now. She must mean serious business. "But you've got to realise something: there's an entire building full of men whose lives were also turned upside down because their boss, their friend, their cousin, their brother-in-arms died. And from what I understand, the only reason they've held it together so far is you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she help up a hand, cutting me off.

"You're the glue that holds this place together, Stephanie," she informed me. "Have been for years. These men were and are willing to defy direct orders to ensure your safety. Take Lester ignoring orders to stand down just so he could try one more time to get you to come back." Her face split into a grin so unexpected that I thought fangs would shoot out and she'd attack me. "He and Greg were both sufficiently punished for that, by the way. You should watch the footage. Hilarious!" And then she was back to serious Diana. "Each and every single one of those men out there made a vow to Ranger to always look out for you. Hell, I'm pretty sure he wrote it into their employee contracts. That kind of thing doesn't just go away because Ranger died. It's a life sentence. And whether you like it or not, those men need you. They need to know you're okay."

"But I'm not okay," I admitted softly. The words surprised me. I'd been pretending for a while and I'd gotten pretty good at it, but when it came down to it, I was still a mess. If only I could shake those nightmares.

"They know," Diana said firmly. "Believe me, they know." When I raised my gaze to meet hers she asked, "Why do think they tried so hard to get you to talk to them, to come back and let them help?"

I just shrugged. Of course I hadn't fooled them. No one who is completely fine runs out of a grocery store to get away from the man saying hi to them. And even the more recent interactions had pointed to nothing but a lack of coping. They were highly trained professionals. Noticing things was eighty percent of their job description. The other twenty was made up of fire arms, hand to hand combat and coming to my rescue. I guess I'd been thwarting their efforts on that last one.

"I guess I've been a bit selfish," I said, staring down at the colourful stripes on my shoes. "I didn't stop to consider how they might be affected by Ranger's death and my actions. I was too wrapped up in my own grief."

"It hasn't been easy," she assured me. "I thought I was going to have to fly up here and kick some asses at one stage." Then, under her breath she added, "I _did_ fly up and kick some asses at one stage."

"You should have started with mine," I muttered, and she surprised me by letting out a bark of laughter.

"Ain't no way they would have let me anywhere near you in that kind of situation," she explained. "I'd have been in traction if I'd even thought about laying a finger on you. Which is not to say I wasn't tempted to think about it, but I like my bones unbroken, don't you?"

There was no denying that. I'd seen the end result of skips who thought it was okay to knock me around and it wasn't pretty. "Wise," I told her.

She smiled then, and I was shocked anew by how gorgeous she was with her goddess-like tan and glowing eyes and gentle, wavy hair. "I'm glad you can recognise it. Now, word of warning. If _you_ don't want to end up in traction, keep you mitts off Halfred."

I nodded my understanding. Pretty sure I'd learned that lesson already, and I hadn't even touched him. "Not a problem," I said. "He's not my type."

Diana shook her head then, but the eye roll and the expression on her face let me know that it wasn't an aggressive gesture. "Yeah, well," she muttered. "I didn't think so either, but here we are."

Silence filled the room for several long minutes during which I attempted to scratch off some paint that had ended up on my jeans at some point and obviously hadn't washed out. Diana had taken to fiddling with the special one-handed keyboard while staring at the computer.

"Can I go now?" I asked, thinking of all the men down the hall and downstairs that I owed an apology to.

"Not yet," she said. "I've got one last thing I think you should be aware of." She glanced over at me and beckoned me around her side of the desk. I obliged quickly, not wanting to get on her bad side – again – and she pointed to the screen.

"What's this?" I asked, confused by the presence of my name.

"RCM Security database," she explained off hand. "This is the chain of command."

I looked closer, still not understanding. My name was right at the top "This isn't right," I told her, still staying at the screen under which was written _Owner/CEO. _"I signed the company over to Tank, Bobby and Lester months ago."

"No you didn't," she countered coolly.

"I did," I insisted. "I got the forms from the lawyers and everything."

"Well clearly something went wrong in the process because a) I never got an email to inform me of a change of own, and b) you are still owner and CEO of RCM Security. Didn't you notice all that money coming into your bank account?"

I shook my head. "It probably goes straight to my savings account. I don't touch that. After I finally got the saving thing down pat, I didn't want to go back to living hand to mouth, so I only use that account in dire emergencies."

"And Tank would have known this?"

My reply was not so much a confirmation as it was a curse. "Tank," I seethed.

"He's the most likely suspect," she agreed. "Would you like me to beat him to a pulp for you?"

"Not…not right yet," I said slowly. "What does this mean for me?"

Diana shrugged. "Ultimately, you're in charge. You have the power."

"I can't do that," I stated.

Diana's smile was unnerving as she turned on the chair to face me head on. "I can train you," she offered. "Like I did Ranger and Tank."

_**Fun fact: That last conversation has been written (As in written written, not script written like my conversations-in-advance usually are) since about March last year. Which when I first decided to include Diana in the story. It is a scene that I have been looking forward to revealing to you ever since, but I needed to lay the ground work first. How does this bit of information affect your opinion of Dear Diana?**_


	39. Chapter 39

_So apparently Diana is alright now? I had a feeling that would happen. Anyway, here's the next chapter._

**Chapter 39**

Bobby's POV

The weekend seemed to going well. Steph was only slightly awkward with us all when we first turned up on the seventh floor Friday night; after that she settled back into her spot in the group with relative ease. She was joking with me, teasing Lester and rolling her eyes at Tank, and we even managed to talk a little about life moments that we'd missed. For example, Steph buying a car that wasn't destined for that big car lot in the sky within two weeks. Lester finally realising that he wants more than a one night stand with a woman – he still had frequent one night stands, but they didn't leave him feeling as pumped as he used to. Tank's robo-arm was the key topic for a long while that night though, as Steph was curious about everything it was capable of. She had him demonstrate most of the functions (that he was aware of, we were pretty sure there were still more that he hadn't discovered and Halfred hadn't clued him in on). I think focusing on something that wasn't strictly a progression of our lives helped.

Saturday morning, I entered the apartment to find the oddest sight I'd ever seen: Steph in the kitchen. Baking. She'd always been a disaster in the kitchen, we'd often joked that she probably couldn't even make a salad. But then again, it had been almost a year and she'd been almost completely absent from all previous circles of her life. Rangeman, her family, everyone. And while I was sure she would probably have no problems existing entirely on fast food, it wasn't particularly healthy. Plus, learning to cook had probably given her something to focus on to keep her mind off things. I often found that it was the quiet times when I had nothing to do that beckoned forth the horror story memories of my past.

So I may have over reacted when I saw her so close to the oven without anyone there to make sure nothing blew up, but she didn't seem to hold it against me. In fact, she tried to play it off like I'd saved her from having to serve awful muffins – which they weren't. No matter how many times she's told me otherwise, they were actually pretty good. At least, the one I ate was.

Then we were off to get Julie, which was when the mindless chatter started. They were getting along like a house of fire. Even Lester found it hard to get a word in on the drive back from the airport. Things slowed down once we got into the games, but that was okay. Lester kept Julie distracted from any shift in Steph's mood that she might have noticed by egging her on when Tank got red faced and flustered by the cards she was laying down. Tank had this vision of Julie in his head that I don't think will ever change. Probably, he'll still be treating her like she's nine when she's thirty. Tank just couldn't deal with the fact that she was growing, and maturing, and most of all, that she had somehow inherited Lester's dirty mind.

It was only after the video games that things became noticeably less okay with Steph. She'd excused herself to use the bathroom while Julie and Lester were locked in battle and taken a really long time to return. That seemed to be the turning point. She'd decided to sit on one of the large cushions on the floor beside Julie rather than returning to her spot beside Tank on the couch. And that's how it was for the rest of the afternoon and evening, she stayed close to Julie, sharing jokes and stories and avoiding looking at the rest of us unless she had to. Especially Tank.

After dinner, we left Steph and Julie for the evening with plans of a movie and the very strong possibility of girl talk. I didn't particularly want to hear about Julie's boy-related activities, and I could guarantee Tank didn't either. Lester possibly wouldn't have a problem with it, but he still wouldn't be all that useful. He'd probably give her all sorts of advice that just was not appropriate. I didn't want to be the one to explain to Rachel where those kinds of ideas came from when we sent her back on Monday. Although, I'm pretty sure Rachel could guess accurately all on her own.

As we vacated the apartment and piled into the elevator – hey, we were on leave, we didn't have to be fitness fanatics this weekend – I feel the tension in the air. I wasn't the only one who'd noticed the difference in Steph's behaviour over the last few hours.

"What just happened?" Lester asked first, jabbing the button for the fourth floor.

"She's pulling away from us again," Tank stated, concern tightening his already terse features.

"But why?" I asked, looking between both of them "She was fine last night, and even this morning. Did something happen in the common room that I'm not aware of?" I directed my question to Tank, since she'd been sitting beside him before the change came over her

He shrugged. "Unless something triggered a flashback while she was in the bathroom?" he suggested uncertainly. While we'd all dealt with our own fair share of PTSD, not even I had much of a clue as to what Steph's triggers were or how we could help her through it, especially since she hadn't really let us in. She'd pretended for about eighteen hours, but now we were back to being shutouts.

"Maybe she's just tired," Lester said, though the furrow in his brow said he thought there was more to it. "I always find it harder to maintain my cover when I'm tired. And Cal _did_ say she looked like she hadn't slept at all this morning when she went out for her run."

"True," I agreed. "It's possible keeping up appearances just became too much effort so she decided to conserve energy by focusing on letting Julie see how okay she was." _I_ didn't even believe my explanation, so it came as no surprise when Tank and Lester just shook their heads slowly. It appeared that after this weekend we may very well find ourselves back at square one, a prospect that none of us was looking forward to.

The elevator doors opened and we went our separate ways, Lester and I heading to our full time apartments, and Tank to the one he kept mostly for when he was working late and couldn't be bothered going home to his cats. This wasn't exactly how we pictured this weekend going. Frankly, at times like these, being an optimist was rather disappointing.

*o*

The next day was carried out in much the same way as Saturday afternoon. Steph would act jovial and cheerful for Julie, but when Julie turned her back or stepped into the other room the light in her eyes would dim. And while she kept up with conversation, it was clear that her mind occupied by something else. She'd endured a significantly unfair game of paintball in the morning and once we were all showered and bruised had been salved, we headed over to Shorty's for lunch. I knew for a fact that Steph hadn't been to Shorty's since she moved out of the seventh floor, otherwise the barmaid, Darla, would have let me know. So it was interesting to watch Steph react to the restaurant.

It was the preferred hang out for most RCM Security employees, since the owner was ex-mil and we had a standing agreement with him. For a time Steph had frequented the restaurant as much as we all did, becoming familiar with the staff and regulars. I can only assume she'd stopped coming because of the association it held with us guys. She'd been avoiding us, after all, so the worst place to go to try to stay away would be Shorty's.

She took in a big breath through her nose as she crossed the threshold. Julie, a step behind her, did the same. The relaxed grin that crossed both their faces eased a tiny bit of the tension from my spine. Steph lead the way to our usual table in the back, letting everyone else scoot in before she took her seat. Beside Julie. They were chattering away at a speed I didn't think was possible in English. It was the kind of rapid-fire conversation I was used to being stunned by when the other guys spoke Spanish.

Darla came over, we placed our order, and somehow, I was left alone at the table with Julie. Lester went to get drinks, Steph excused herself to the ladies room, and Tank mentioned something about something he had to discuss with Shorty. Of the three of us, I had no delusions of being Julie's favourite. My serene presence didn't stand a chance against Lester's blood relation or Tank's close relationship with her father, but I'd always made it clear that I didn't judge and that I was there to talk if she needed.

Apparently, that's what she needed right now.

"Is Steph all right?" she asked as soon as she was sure that Steph was out of ear shot.

"What do you mean?" I returned, not wanting to reveal too much in case she hadn't cottoned on.

"Well she's not exactly her usual self," Julie said, with the kind of tone that clearly added _'duh'_ to the end of her statement. "Not that I expected her to be. I mean, who bounces back from true love? I just… It's like she's trying really hard to put on a happy face for me, but with you guys it's a world of no."

I nodded, hoping she would take the initiative to keep talking. I wasn't disappointed.

"And like," she tucked her straight, brown hair behind her ear tipped her head to the side. "She slept on the couch last night." I struggled to contain the expression that threatened to jump to my face. We'd suspected that first night that she'd been avoiding the bedroom, but had assumed she was just taking her time and would be pretty much settled by the time we got Julie. "She doesn't know I know," Julie continued quickly, oblivious to my thoughts. "I woke up to her screaming my name last night and when I ran into the living room, she was thrashing about on the couch, which was definitely made up to be a bed. I kinda, like… I dunno, soothed her?" She made a face. "I stroked her hair and whispered the kinds of things that Mom used to when I used to have nightmares. She calmed down pretty quickly after that, but she didn't wake up."

"What language were you soothing in?" I asked, genuinely curious. I had a theory that the Spanish language had a calming effect on her. You could literally be reciting a shopping list, but if it was in Spanish, she'd calm right down. It had something to do with the cadences or something.

Julie must not have seen any connection, because she gave me a look that I was pretty sure was meant to say _Really, Bobby? Is now the time?_ But she answered anyway. "Spanish," she said.

I nodded. "Look," I said, leaning my elbows on the table. "There's no point in me trying to deny that Steph isn't coping. She's not."

"She hasn't been around you all much lately, has she?"

Just as I opened my mouth to explain everything that had been going on the last twelve months despite the fact that we'd promised Steph we would play happy families for the weekend to save Julie the worry, when Steph stepped out of the hallway that lead to the bathroom. She flipped her hair – which she'd left down for a change – and crossed to the table, slipping in beside Julie once more.

"What are we talking about?" she asked, sending her most winning smile in my direction before quickly averting her gaze back to Julie.

"I was just telling Bobby about my Biology teacher," Julie said, spearing Steph with a meaningful look.

"Ohhh," Steph said, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of her lips. "The, uh-"

Julie nodded, a grin stretching from ear to ear. "Yeah," she confirmed.

I glanced from Julie to Steph and back, suspicion rising as swiftly as the tide of the therapy spa in the gym when you turn the faucets on full blast. The way they were avoiding saying exactly what it was about this Biology Teacher that made it so significant had me wishing I'd been quicker to come up with a lie. If I'd beat Julie to it we could be discussing the pros and cons of the ball point pen by now.

"Uh oh," Lester murmured, arriving back at the table and setting down the drinks slowly. "I'd know that look from a mile away," he added, taking a small step away from the women. "Who are you planning on setting up now?"

What the fuck?

"We're not setting anyone up, Les," Steph assured him. "Julie just though Bobby would be interested in hearing about her biology teacher. She sounds very nice."

I shook my head, unsure what else to do in the face of the two women I was closest to making plans for my love life. It took me back to when I was in Med school and my mom and sister would always invite random women they thought would be good for me over to dinner whenever I visited. It was excruciating and embarrassing and I couldn't see this biology teacher thing going any other way. I floundered around for something to say for the longest time before Julie and Steph exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

"Oh Bobby," Julie wheezed several moment later when she managed to regain some self control. "My biology teacher is about a hundred years old," she informed me. "And a man."

"You should have seen the look on your face!" Steph crowed. And the joy in her expression, the way her eyes crinkled with the smile, made me forgive them for the prank. If it made them happy, I was more than willing to endure it.

**_Time for bed. But thanks everyone for reading._**


	40. Chapter 40

_It's a short chapter. But I feel like it says everything it needs to at this stage._

**Chapter 40**

Steph's POV

When we arrived at the airport mid-morning on Monday Julie quickly excused herself from the guys and dragged me into a nearby bathroom. She took a moment fluff her hair in the mirror and add another layer of gloss to her already perfectly glossed lips. Then she turned to face me, a serious expression on her face. It reminded me so much of Ranger that there was a slight ache in my chest. But while Ranger's expression slipped into this serious state naturally thanks to years of stress, Julie's was put on deliberately. Her face was innately happy so if she was frowning at me now it was for a reason.

"I'm going to ask you a couple of questions and I need you to be absolutely honest with me," she stated, folding her arms over her chest. I just nodded in reply, though I was definitely concerned for what would come out of her mouth next. "Are you coping?" My mouth was open ready to reply with my stock standard answer, no matter how much of a lie it was, but she cut me off before I could. "Don't lie to me," she admonished harshly. "Are. You. Coping?"

"I have good days and bad days," I admitted, rather than give her a flat answer one way or another, because it was the truth. There were days when I could don the only one of his Rangeman shirts I'd brought with me when I moved and allow myself to lie in bed and fantasise or recall the times we'd spent together behind closed doors with no ill effects. But there were also days when the sight of an innocent black car, driving past at an intersection would set me to hyperventilating.

She nodded like she'd guessed as much already. "Are you getting help?"

Quietly, I nodded. This was a sixteen year old girl asking me these questions. Her concern showing on her face and leaking out in her tone. She'd been so carefree all weekend and now she was staring at me like she thought I might break if she didn't do something about it soon, when in reality it was me that needed to do something. And I was try, I really was, but just as I seemed to be gaining momentum something derailed me. Like this weekend. Everything was going fine, and then I find out that Tank hadn't done as I'd urged him to months ago. So while I tried to keep up appearances for Julie's, my mind kept slipping back to the fact that Tank had betrayed me.

"I've been seeing a therapist for about three months now," I informed her, glancing away. I had a feeling she wasn't willing to take any of this lightly.

"Only three months?" she questioned, brow furrowing in a way I wished I hadn't caused. "Why wait so long? I would have thought Bobby would insist on-" She cut herself off with a shake of the head. "He _would_ have, except you haven't been around him. You've been living in your own little bubble away from everyone else for most of the year."

I blinked, stunned. How did she know? But then it came to me. Lunch the previous day. I'd come back from the restroom and spied the concerned expression on Julie's face, mirrored on Bobby's as they spoke in hushed tones. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, like maybe Julie was having issues that she needed to talk to Bobby about. No one would judge her for that. Bobby was a smart, intuitive guy with a medical degree and a lot of life experience. He gave good advice and wasn't judgemental of the decisions you'd made that brought you to his office with two skinned knees and a chunk off your shoulder.

"Bobby," I breathed in much the same way as I had Tank's name in his office with Diana. "He-"

"-didn't tell me anything," Julie interrupted sounding almost exasperated. "I came to the conclusion all by myself based on the behaviour I've seen." She rolled her eyes as my shoulders slackened. "Steph," she sighed. "I notice things. I've always noticed things. Like the way Dad was always so much freer when he was with you. Sure, he could joke with BLT, but when he was around you it was like the weight of the world that he usually carried on his shoulders would lifted away. He could smile. Like, properly smile, not that stupid half smile thing he does when something kinda amuses him. That's how I knew from the moment I met you and saw you with him that you were the one. Everyone saw it. It's the kind of love that transcends time and space and probably even this physical world."

Her eyes were a bit watery as she stared straight up into my eyes. I was shocked to find she was almost as tall as me now. When did that happen? For some reason whenever I pictured her in my head she was still the eleven year old I'd helped rescue from that creep Scrog. And even though I'd witnessed her grow in spits and spurts on the few and far between occasions that I'd seen her, it was always a surprise to find her levelling out.

"He loved you. He's still watching over you. He wouldn't have wanted you to live your life in isolation. It's not right. And neither is shutting out your friends. They're worried about you," she explained, wrapping her arms around her middle and looking a lot younger than the sixteen years I was struggling to comprehend she was. "Tank, Bobby, Lester. They're all really worried. It's been killing them not being able to just - I don't know, whatever it is you used to do when you weren't rolling in garbage and getting shot at – with you."

I took a step closer to her, cupping her cheeks to make sure she was looking at me before I spoke. "Julie," I said slowly. "Believe me, I'll be the first to admit that I haven't handled the last year in a healthy way. I know it's not the best way I could have done things, but it's been done now and I have to live with the consequences. And unfortunately for me, that means that I now have to navigate the tricky business of reintegrating myself into my old life. I've been trying to get through this by myself, and I've finally realised that it's not going to work, but I've been such a horrible person to them all that I just can't see myself returning to Haywood and being welcomed with open arms and blanket forgiveness."

"They would, though," Julie whispered, laying her hands on my forearms. "Hell, I'm pretty sure they'd be happy with a one hour visit once a month at this stage. They miss you so freaking much."

"I'm going to fix this," I assured her. "I'm going to work on my relationship with the guys. I have to. I have to face up to the responsibility I ran away from."

Julie's expression clouded with confusion at my statement. I could tell she wanted answers. She wanted to know what I was talking about, but there was a more pressing matter. I could hear the men out in the corridor, probably discussing whether or not to barge into the bathroom.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Call me when you get home and I'll explain," I said. "We should probably emerge from the ladies' room before they kick the door down."

She eyed me suspiciously, but nodded agreement, taking a moment to fix her hair and make up before leading the way out the door. We were immediately engulfed by a triangle of muscle.

"Took you long enough," Lester groused as soon as we were in sight. "I thought we were going to have to barge in, guns a-blazing."

"Except this is an airport and we're not stupid enough to be carrying weapons," Bobby added with an exasperated shake of his head.

Tank just looked from Julie to me and back before turning on his heel. "Better get a move on so you don't miss your flight," he tossed over his shoulder.

Bobby fell into step behind him, but Lester held his ground, watching us expectantly. He was smiling just a touch, but it wasn't the kind of smile he had when he was planning some kind of joke, or reaping the rewards of one. It was a tight thing, quite foreign to his features.

"We'll be with you in a sec," Julie said, nodding her head toward where Tank and Bobby had paused at the end of the hall, looking back impatiently. "I just need to tell Steph one more thing." Thankfully, Lester took the hint and marched over to join the others.

"What is it?" I asked, as soon as I was pretty sure he was out of earshot.

"I was just thinking," she said. "Next time, do you think I could stay at your place? It was weird staying in the seventh floor without Dad."

A lump formed in my throat. I tried to swallow it down, but it wouldn't budge. She was tearing my heart out! "Of course," I croaked. "That'd be perfect."

*o*

We saw Julie onto the plane without further incident and made it all the way back out to the SUV in silence. On the drive back to Trenton, I let Lester engage me in a discussion about the pros and cons of internet dating and what was appropriate to put in a profile, but by the time we turned onto Haywood everyone was staring out the front windshield solemnly. Tank pulled the car into his space by the elevator- the space someone had spray painted a handicapped symbol on, probably in jest – and turned off the engine.

"So this is it, then?" he asked, not looking at me.

"What do you mean?" I countered, unsure.

"You've been distant all weekend," he pointed out. "I assume you'll be returning to your own little world now? Leaving us here in the dust again?"

I shook my head. "It was my original plan," I admitted, knotting my hands together in my lap as I stared at his profile, casting nervous glancing over my shoulder to where Bobby and Lester were listening. Expectant. "I was going to come for the weekend and then go back to hiding. But I realised I can't. I can't do it. There are things I need to do and I can't do them on my own, worlds away from your all." I know he tried to hide it, but I saw the flash of hope in his eyes clear as day. I steeled myself for what I had to say next. "We need to schedule a meeting," I informed him.

His eyebrows drew together, at once worried and confused. "We can talk whenever you want," Tank assured me. "I've always got time for-."

But I shook my head. "No. It needs to be a scheduled meeting. In your office." I looked at Bobby and Lester again, a fleeting glance. "And you guys should probably be there too. We have some things to discuss."

**_I'll see what I can get done over the weekend, but I make no promises. _**


	41. Chapter 41

_So this chapter took longer to write than I'd anticipated. And it turned out differently than I'd first imagined, too. Also, you should all be aware of the fact that I added a new story to "Between the Plans" yesterday. It takes place before Tank get's his Swiss-Army Arm._

**Chapter 41**

Lester's POV

I was sitting in my cubicle Wednesday morning, eating a bagel and clicking through what seemed like the same emails I received every morning without really looking at them. My mind was elsewhere, preoccupied by the possibilities of what would come of the official meeting Steph had requested. I knew it could be nothing good, or she wouldn't have insisted on such formalities. The problem was there was no way of knowing what was going through her head, and having quit snooping in her life after a close call with a knife in my crotch, I didn't even have a frame of reference. Tank had tried to get her to tell him what it was all about, but she'd just set her shoulders and insisted he would find out at the meeting. Frustrating. Since when had Steph become so hard to predict?

"Maybe she wants to discuss her returning to work here," Bobby suggested. His tone was almost casual, like we'd been in the middle of speculating about the weather instead of silently mulling over what new hell Steph would bring for us.

"After the weekend we just had?" I pointed out, glancing over my shoulder to catch his eye. He was perched on the end of my desk, flipping through a file. I could imaging he was unconcerned by the prospects of Steph once again turning our collective lives on their heads. "She clearly had issues with the seventh floor, and barely interacted with us after Julie arrived. What makes you think she's eager to return to the company her dead fiancé built with his own bare hands?"

Bobby shrugged, dropping the file back in the tray where he'd taken it from. "The next step in the healing process?"

I snorted, thinking that Steph would do anything to avoid us all at this point, even if it meant living the rest of her life in mental and emotional anguish. I didn't get a chance to say as much, though, as Diana suddenly appeared between us, looking much more smug than usual. And that was saying something, because she always looked rather smug.

"Santos," she greeted. "Brown."

"Diana," I returned curtly. She wasn't usually one for pleasantries, so it was safe to say I was suspicious of her intentions.

"I just thought I'd give you both a little heads up," she explained without preamble. "You might want to brush up on your chain of command." She eyed each of us in a way that was meant to be meaningful and strode away. I couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be an extra spring in her step.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, abandoning the computer once and for all. It wasn't like I was getting anything done anyway.

Bobby lifted an eyebrow in my direction. "She'd probably just trying to assert her authority over us. Like always."

I rolled my eyes. He was probably right. I can't remember a time when Diana wasn't a power hungry bitch. What I _did_ recall as a time – brief though it might have been – when she was a power hungry bitch with no skills with a fire arm. Unfortunately, we'd all decided to help her with that. Man, if I could go back to basic, I'm damn sure I would make a few different decisions. I don't care how pathetic Diana was when we first met her, or how integral she'd been when Rangeman was just starting out. I would let her continue to miss every single target if it meant I didn't have to be stuck under her well-manicured thumb today.

I might have commented as much to Bobby, but Tank stepped into the opening of my cubicle at that moment and announced that Steph had just pulled into the parking garage and was on her way up. He didn't use so many words, in fact, he didn't use _any_ words, but we knew what his head jerk meant and followed obediently to his office where Steph arrived a few minutes later looking very formal. The unsettled feeling in my stomach did not ease with the sight of her black trousers and blue blouse, her hair pulled into a respectable knot at the back of her head.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, glancing at each of us in turn as she crossed to the third guest chair we'd dragged in to accommodate the four of us. Ordinarily, we might have moved the meeting to sofas at the other end of the room, but her request had been too proper to even consider it.

"You're not late," Bobby replied, even though we all knew the time she'd organised for this meeting was five minutes ago.

Steph shook her head as she sat down, setting her bag beside her on the floor and folding her hands in her lap. She stared straight at Tank, her face as blank as she could possibly make it. Tank just stared back, at her, never one to speak up before it was due, and since we had no idea what this meeting was even about, he had nothing to say. After a few minutes of silence Steph finally let out a sigh.

"Why did you do it?" she questioned, not even bothering to let us know what she was talking about.

Tank raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Steph held her tongue, apparently not willing to say anything more until she heard a reply.

"Do what?" I asked after several agonising heartbeats passed. I couldn't take it. I needed to know what I was up against. I hated seeing Steph so serious. We needed to get to the bottom of this so I would know either way if I should keep reserving that spot in my heart that had always been Steph's or if I should attempt to rent it out. I would give anything to have her back in our lives even sporadically. Anything was better than this radio silence. Even without her presence, I'd unwittingly circulated a birthday card for her before realising I wouldn't be able to give it to her without angering her.

"Tank knows," she stated coolly.

"Are you sure?" Bobby said uncertainly.

"I'm so sure I'm practically deodorant," she said, maintaining eye contact with the big guy. "And the fact that neither of you two seem to have a clue confirms my suspicions."

I looked from Steph to Tank and back, confused and concerned. "What's she talking about, Tank?"

Tank moved as slow as a sloth, leaning back in his chair and resting both arms on the arm rests. "The company," he said firmly. Not a question, so clearly he _did_ know what she was talking about.

"More specifically?" Steph prompted him.

"Ownership of it," he nodded, looking ever so slightly apologetic.

It took a moment, but the lightbulb finally switched on in my brain as I recalled the stressful weeks following Ranger's death. At the reading of the will, Steph found out for the first time that Ranger wanted her to have the company. She hadn't taken that news well. In fact, she'd vehemently denied it, insisting that she didn't know the first thing about running a business like Rangeman. She'd even gone so far as to have Ranger's lawyers draw up the paperwork to transfer her share of the company Tank, Bobby and me. And signed it. The paper work had then gone to Tank. He'd assured her that we'd all sign it and get it back to the lawyers for processing. Which half true. He'd certainly taken it to the lawyers. At that meeting we'd all discussed the situation at length and decided that given her emotional state, we didn't want to aid her in rushing into such a hasty decision. Instead we agreed that if she still had no interest in the company in twelve months we'd sign and process, but in the meantime Tank would act as head of the RCM Securities just as he always did when Ranger was away.

That twelve months was almost up, and I guess we were about to find out whether we'd need to sign that paperwork or have the lawyers destroy it.

"Why did you do it?" she repeated.

"You were grief stricken," he explained calmly, maintaining the eye contact she was insisting on with no trouble at all. "We didn't want you to make a decision as big as that while in full mourning mode and come to regret it later on."

"So you made a decision for me," she accused. Her tone was still calm, but there was a hint of the irritation we all knew she had to be feeling.

Bobby shifted in his chair, drawing her attention to him instead of the big guy. "Actually," he said. "We just postponed _your_ decision."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Explain."

"See, rather than just having the lawyers destroy the document we had them file it away for a year. We signed a contract that if you still felt the same way twelve months from the day you signed the paperwork, we would sign it no questions asked."

A long silence followed Bobby's very well worded explanation. We should nominate him as our spokesperson more often. Clearly she was thinking through the details he'd given her, trying to formulate a new plan of attack.

"So," she said slowly. "If I say I still don't want the company, you'll happily sign on the dotted line and take over and I won't ever have to worry about it ever again?"

"Correct," Tank stated.

"Almost correct," I interrupted. "We'll make sure some of the profit still goes to you. You deserve that much at least."

Steph shook her head. "I don't deserve anything," she whispered. "I've been the worst friend ever."

"You've been through a lot," Bobby said, moving his chair closer so he could lay his hand on her arm. "And you did the best you could to deal with it, but life has a way of making things harder for those who don't need the extra burden. We weren't thrilled by your reaction, but we couldn't fault you. Every one of us has had to take a step back from our lives at one point or another to just find a way to be after a major life changing incident."

"For an entire year?" she asked. Her voice sounded so small all of a sudden and it made my chest ache to be so close and yet so far away. I'd had more physical contact with her in the last few days than I had in months - the hug on Friday night, the occasional arm slung around a shoulder over the weekend – but I still wasn't sure she _wanted_ to be comforted right now. It was agony. No matter what she said, I would always think of her as part of my family and I would do anything to protect her, but I couldn't protect her from the grief that still lived inside her.

"Not an entire year, no." Bobby shook his head. "But our life changing events weren't nearly as traumatic as what you've been put through."

"But you've had to kill people and been nearly killed yourselves," she pointed out. "I mean, Tank lost his arm and he was back at work as soon as he was cleared."

Tank grunted something about the loss being his own stupid fault. Which was true, since the idiot had ignored the signs of infection until it was too late. We all ignored him.

"If you don't mind my asking," I piped up, a sudden thought popping into my head. "How did you find out that you were still technically the head of the company?"

Bobby's head snapped around to fix his gaze on me. "Diana," he seethed. "She as much as confessed to it this morning when she came by your cubicle telling us to 'brush up on our chain of command'."

Anger was rising in my chest and I was preparing to hunt Diana down and show her who was boss, but Steph was nodding, sitting up straighter. "Diana explained a few things to me on Saturday when she found me in the bathroom," she explained. "It kind of did a number on my mood. I'd had such big intentions of being pleasant and friendly all weekend, but then she told me the company was still mine and I may have lost sight of that goal. I kept thinking of how you'd promised to file the paperwork and get it done. And how that apparently hadn't happened. It was all I could do to not chew you out in front of Julie."

"That explains a lot," Tank said. "I'm sorry we went against your wishes and that you had to find out like that. If you like, I'll call the lawyers now and have them bring the paperwork over. You can watch as we all sign it so there's no doubt in your mind." He was already reaching for the phone on his desk, preparing to do just that, but Steph stopped him with her hand on top of his on phone.

"No," she said. "That's not what I want."

We were all silent, watching her carefully, trying to understand this new shift. First she'd been angry, then confused, sad, apologetic. Now she was just stern. Tank slowly retracted his hand, laying it on the arm of his office chair. Bobby kept his gaze trained on her face. I ran a hand through my hair, messing up the spikes I'd gelled to perfection a few hours ago. We all waited for her to explain what it was she _did_ want.

"While Diana was explaining a few things," she started, taking a deep breath as her gaze flitted between each of us before settling firmly back on Tank. "She happened to mention how she came to be at the company. How she trained Ranger and you as a payment to some debt she owed. She said that she could train me too if I wanted."

"You want to take over the company?" Tank asked slowly.

"Not- not right away," Steph said. "But I'd like to give it a go. The training thing. See if I'm any good at it. And then maybe gradually take on more of the responsibilities around here." Her gaze dodged around the room at each of us again. "If that's okay," she added.

"Of course it's okay," I assured her. "It's your company. It's your decision."

"And if you deem yourself no good at it?" Bobby asked. He always did like to play devil's advocate, but I wished he'd keep his mouth shut from time to time.

"Then we'll work something out that works," Steph said timidly. "I- I'd… um… like to come back to Rangeman either way. You have no idea how boring it is working in an office where the best gossip is who's parent is dating who's."

"It's, uh, still RCM Security," I reminded her. I didn't like doing it, but it needed to be done. We hadn't found a loophole yet to get it changed back.

Surprisingly, Steph's lips curved into a small smile. "That's another thing," she said. "Diana said Halfred might be able to find a way to bring back the old name."

***cue a collective sigh of relief from all readers***


	42. Chapter 42

_What else would I be doing on a Friday evening but finishing off another chapter for all you lovely readers? Honestly, not much. Probably reading._

Chapter** 42**

Steph's POV

I was in the living room sorting through my box of failed hobbies. I figured since all they were doing was sitting there, I should think about getting rid of them, especially the embarrassing ones, like the hunk of wood that represented my whittling attempts. There was yarn spread across the entire room in a spider web pattern that I had not yet tripped on. Fingers crossed that statistic held up. The rest of the contents of the chest was laid out across the coffee table and sofa. At one stage I had had a keep pile and a throw pile, but they had long ago merged together so that I couldn't remember what was what. I was stood with my back to the television facing the mess and wondering how much effort it would be to fit all back in the chest when the doorbell rang.

That would be the guys.

After letting them know of my plans to come back to RCM Security – which I had high hopes would soon return to being Rangeman – I'd mentioned that if I was working at one Security Company it didn't make sense to have my home security provided by someone else. They'd agreed it seemed silly and we'd set up a time for them to come do a walk-through of the house so they could design the right system for me before I had Hogar Home Security uninstall their system.

I'd thought, when I started my sorting endeavour, that I had enough time to finish before they all turned up, but clearly I'd miscalculated how complicated it would be.

"Just a minute," I called, picking my way through the spider web toward the door. I made sure to keep my knees high even though most of the yarn was little more than an inch off the floor. My luck was terrible when it came to tripping, and with three old friends waiting on the other side of the door I didn't want to cause a racket as I fell over and have their first view of my house with me tangled in a web. Thankfully, I managed to reach the entrance way without getting yarn wrapped around my feet and it was smooth sailing from there all the way to the front door. Out of habit, I checked the peep hole first, and found Tank, Lester and Bobby all standing on my front porch, gazing around curiously. Or perhaps they were assessing the outside of the house while they waited.

Unlocking the door, I pulled it open and smiled as all their head whipped around as one to face me. "Hey," I greeted.

"Hi," Lester grinned.

"You'll have to excuse the mess in the living room," I informed them as I unlocked the screen door and stood aside to let them in. "I started something that I thought I could finish before you got here and grossly underestimated the amount of time it would take."

The guys, I noted, entered the house only far enough to allow me to close and lock the doors once more. They stood clogging the entrance way with their wide shoulders. They were being exceptionally considerate. I rolled my eyes.

"Go snoop," I told them, making a shooing gesture. "Anything I don't want you to see is already locked away. I'll be in the living room cleaning up my mess." I didn't even wait for them to move, because they were exchanging hesitant looks. I just pushed through to the living room and started picking my way back through the web of disastrous hobby attempts. Just as I thought I'd made it to the centre of the web without incident, my toe caught on a length of yarn and I tripped forward, whacking my shin on the coffee table. I let out a curse and managed to turn so that I landed my ass on the tennis racket I'd laid on the table, rather than fall all the way to the floor.

Hissing out a breath, I leaned down to rub the spot that would probably be a bruise soon enough through my jeans.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked, drawing my attention to the fact that the trio now stood in the doorway to the living room staring in at me and my mess.

"Fine," I assured him. "I was just using my shin to find the furniture."

"What is all this?" Lester was already making his way across the yarn maze to examine the stuff I'd spread around. "Is that a ukulele?"

A sigh fell from my lips. They weren't supposed to see this part. This room currently contained the product of several months' worth of insomnia. I should have just lead them upstairs to start their walk through up there. Maybe I could have stuffed it all back in the chest by the time they were finished with the top level.

Too late now.

"What's with all the string?" Tank asked. "Is this the security system Hogar provided for you? Cos let me tell you, it is rather primitive."

"The _wool_," I started, making a point to correct him. "Is part of my knitting project."

Tank raised an eyebrow.

Bobby seemed to be analysing the room to find a path that would not end with a spider to consume him.

Lester let out a snort. "You knit?" he said incredulously, pulling on one of the threads that snaked past his feet.

I gave him a half smile. "As it turns out, I do not," I said, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. "I tried to learn how, but all I managed was a knotted mess."

"I'll say," Lester agreed. "How many balls of yarn do have strewn around here?"

"Just the one," I shrugged. Although spread out like it was, it looked like five or six. I had no idea how I would untangle it all enough to get everything else put away. Luckily Tank was thinking rationally.

"Do you have any attachment to this yarn?" he asked, eyeing it all.

I looked down and noted a length had managed to wrap itself around my ankle. Probably, it crept up on me while I was sitting here. "Uh…" I uttered, ever so eloquently.

"Do you intend on unknotting it and reusing it in a non-spider-web way?" he rephrased.

I shook my head.

"Good," he confirmed, then held up his prosthetic arm and said calmly, "Go-Go Gadget Scissors." I didn't see any change in the limb. No scissors popped out of his palm, or the end of his fingers or anything, but he stopped over and began cutting a path through the mess by making a scissor action with his index and middle finger. The blades must be embedded in the side of his fingers. Cool.

"So it really is voice activated?" I asked curiously. I hadn't had a chance to look at the limb up close yet. Not only that, as amusing as Lester's story had been at Abuela's birthday party, I hadn't actually believed that it was true. Looked like it was, though.

"Oh yeah," Tank grinned, showing off sparkling, even, white teeth. "It's pretty badass."

Behind him, Bobby, the only to have not entered the room, snorted. "Right, badass. Because all the badasses call out _Go-Go Gadget _before the tool they require."

Tank straightened to glare at him. "Shut your mouth or I'll knock you out with my Go-Go Gadget Dart Gun," he threatened, and with a few clicks, he was holding his hand in classic 'gun' position, the end of the middle finger having flipped off in preparation of launching a dart that I could only assume was tipped with some kind of poison or drug or something.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I cried, jumping to my feet and almost falling over when the yarn tugged my ankle back. "Put the dart gun away. No one is shooting anyone in my house." I glared at each of them in turn, making sure they understood that this was my sanctuary and I wouldn't have them filling it with violence. "Why don't you all head upstairs and start looking around while I tidy this up?" I suggested firmly.

"But I wanna play the ukulele," Lester whined, drawing my attention back to him. He'd picked up the guitar-like item and was sending my puppy dog eyes. I'd just managed to open my mouth to tell him I couldn't even remember any of the basic cords I might have almost mastered during my attempts when he started strumming. Expertly. Show off.

"When did you learn to play ukulele?" I asked him.

He shrugged, but didn't stop playing. "Some random guy, in a random place, at a random time taught me," he said, by which he meant he learned on a mission and couldn't give me any more details than that. "I've been meaning to buy myself a ukulele, but never got around to it."

I shook my head. "You can have that one," I said. "God knows I'll never get the hang of it."

Lester grinned from ear to ear. "Sounds like a challenge."

The guys ended up helping me sort the 'shit from the jam' as Bobby called it, returning the usable items to the chest and carrying the rest – knitting and hunk of wood included – to the trash can outside. Once the living room was clear and I'd finished picking up the fragments on wool Tank had left behind, they all stood around the coffee table, looking at me. "Do you mind giving us the grand tour?" Bobby asked. "Snooping is great, and all, but we were kinda hoping for something a little more personal."

"Oh." The syllable escaped me before I could stop it. For some reason, I'd just expected them to have a look around, gather the information they needed and head back to Haywood to formulate a plan. It was a stupid thought, I realised, now that I was faced with the three of them inside my house. I'd kept them at bay for so long I'd fallen out of touch with them. Of course they wanted me to spend the time taking them through the place I'd hidden myself away. I'd want any of them to do the same. "Of course," I agreed.

*o*

Two hours later, the guys had finished their walk through and were gathered around the kitchen bench, an iPad laid out between them with a very basic floor plan of the house that they were discussing. I'd kind of been hovering in their circle, listening and understanding not a lot. I must have looked awkward, because after a glance in my direction Bobby cleared his throat.

"We, uh," he started, shifting his eyes to Tank and Lester in turn. "We could discuss this later at Haywood. Did you wanna join us for dinner?"

I opened my mouth to reply but Tank cut me off.

"Before we do anything," he said. "I couldn't help noticing an unopened piece of correspondence on the hall table earlier. I happen to know exactly what is contained within it's envelope, since I slipped it under your door as a peace offering several months ago. And I think we should all sit down and –" he cut his eyes to Lester, a significant look in his eye. "Watch it," he finished off.

Lester groaned and lowered himself to the counter, as though his spine could no longer hold him upright. "You sent it to her?" he asked, manoeuvring his head to stare at Tank. His face was pure humiliation. "She doesn't need to see that! She'll never respect me again!"

Bobby let out a chuckle. "I'm not sure she fully respects you now, and that's entirely your own doing."

"And I didn't send it to her," Tank assured him. "I hand delivered it to her door."

I was intrigued to say the least. There wasn't much that could ruffle Lester's feathers, and I'd certainly never seen anything affect him this badly. I knew in that instant, looking at the agonised expression on his face, that I had to see whatever it was Tank had thought would smooth things over. "Tell you what," I said, smirking at Lester. "How about we order Pino's, and when it arrives we'll have dinner and a show."

"I'll order," Bobby volunteered, whipping out his phone and pacing away.

"In the meantime," I said slowly, eyeing the pair I was left with. "I was wondering if you could talk me through your plans for the security." I shrugged my shoulders, trying to make like it seem like no big deal, though I couldn't even convince myself of that, let alone Lester and Tank. "I'll need to know more about it eventually," I said. "So why not start now. What better way to find the basics than to see the process through my own install?"

Tank nodded slightly and pulled out one of my kitchen stools to sit down. He slid the synthetic pad of his right forefinger across the screen of the iPad and tapped in a passcode to unlock the device and gestured for me to move faster. "We'll start with sensor alarms on all windows and the doors that lead outside," he said, gesturing around the perimeter of the floor plan on the screen. "That way if any point of entry is breached while the system is armed we'll know immediately. We'll also add external cameras here, here, here, here and here. That should give us an almost 360 view of the surroundings."

"Almost?" I asked. "So there's a blind spot?"

"There couldn't be," Lester put in. "We wouldn't know until we set up the cameras, but based on what I've seen, a couple of yards in this area here would be unmonitored."

I nodded my understanding. "Is there any way to make sure it's covered?" Tank and Lester exchanged a glance, like they'd never been asked that question before. "I mean, if I were investing a lot of money to ensure the best possible security, I'd wanna make sure the whole perimeter is covered. I'm a woman living on her own, things could happen."

"Right," Tank agreed. "Uh. I suppose we could fiddle with the placement of the cameras before we cement their positions. It could take some extra time, but we'd be happy to do it. Anything to ensure your safety."

"You should get Hector and Hank to work on a way of divining the optimal placement of the cameras before installing," I suggested. "It would put a lot of minds at ease."

"Right," Lester agreed. "I'll, uh, make a note of that." And to my surprise he actually took out his phone and typed in a reminder. "Anything else?"

I examined their plan. "Will the inside be monitored?" I asked.

"Would you like it to be monitored?" Tank asked.

"If I did have cameras in my home, would they be monitored at all times?" I asked. "Would the feed go to the fourth floor monitor station? Cos I'm not sure how I feel about men watching me pad around the house in my underwear."

"Generally, when it comes to residential security, the interior footage is only accessed if there is an incident," Bobby inserted, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he joined us. "Exteriors are fed straight to the monitor station. Dinner will be here in twenty minutes, by the way."

I nodded my understanding. "So, internal cameras. Where?"

"All open areas of the house," Tank stated. "Living, dining, kitchen, halls. We tend to avoid bedrooms and bathrooms, just purely because people get a bit twitchy about those areas of the house."

Lester leaned his elbows on the counter. "We _do_ have a system that is only accessed in the case of a perimeter breach, though," he reminded Tank before cutting his eyes to me. "If that would make you feel more secure."

"How much extra is that?" I asked. Not that I was worried about the cost, I knew they would do me a deal and I was well off with Ranger's inheritance. I just needed to know what the hike up was on the extra security.

The guys exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Do you know?"

"Not off the top of my head," Tank said, defensively.

"How would you find out?" I pressed.

Lester hunched his shoulders. "Geez, Bomber, give us a break!"

I let out a sigh and sat back. "I'm just trying to learn more about what it is RCM Security does on a day to day basis besides tracking down criminals that don't show up for their court date. I'm all down with that side of the business, especially the searches part, unless you've changed it recently. I just want to get a handle on all this."

Bobby laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "And you will," he said firmly. "But you can't learn it all in one evening. And you might wanna warn us before you start asking the technical questions. We don't do as many call outs and installs as we used to." He gave my shoulder a small squeeze. "Give it time. It took Ranger years to build and perfect the systems, no one expects you to know everything right away. In fact, no one expects you to know everything _ever_. It's probably impossible. I know I don't know everthing."

Taking a deep breath, I had to turn away from them all so they didn't see the grief that had suddenly snuck onto my face. I busied myself with pouring a glass of water, but my mind was on the task that lay ahead of me. I'd decided that I would give it a shot, partly because Morelli kept urging me to – now _that_ was an odd occurrence, Joseph Morelli suggesting I go back to Rangeman – partly because I missed them all, partly because Diana, as much as she got on my nerves with her air of superiority and the way she man handles Halfred, said I could do it. But mostly because if Ranger left the company to me with the intention that I one day run it in his absence, he must have been absolutely confident that I would be able to do it. This company was like his baby. He'd created it, fed it, watched it grow. He wouldn't entrust it to just anyone.

I didn't want to let him down.

"Steph?" Lester asked quietly, causing me to jump clear out of my skin. He was standing right behind me. "Are you okay?"

"Just a little overwhelmed," I said slowly, turning to face them again and attempting a small smile. It fell flat, of course, but the thought was there.

"Would you mind talking us through it?" Bobby asked calmly from over by the counter. He hadn't moved except to look over his shoulder at me. "We could help break it down into more manageable pieces for you."

I fisted my hands around the hem of my oversized batman shirt. "Ranger thought I could do this or he wouldn't have left it to me," I started hesitantly, twisting the material around my fingers. "But I can't help thinking I'm just going to screw it all up like I do everything else. What if I make a bad decision and the company goes bankrupt? What if someone gets injured because of one of my calls? What if-"

Tank held up a hand – the flesh one – effectively stopping my mouth in its tracks. "We'll be with you every step of the way. Even when you're ready to step into the role of CEO fully, we will be there to help. We're not going to dump the company on you and run. If you need help or advice or anything we're literally a shout away. Like we always have been."

"Furthermore," Lester inserted, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his side for a hug.

"Oh, watch out," Bobby teased, "Someone's been using their _Word-a-Day _toilet paper again."

Lester flipped the medic the bird with his free hand. "As I was saying," he said. "No one is dumping everything on you all at once. You'll take on responsibility gradually at a pace that you're comfortable with. And if there's something you're _not_ comfortable with, you can totally delegate the shit out of it. That's the sign of a true leader."

At that moment, the doorbell rang, signally the arrival of food. Predictably, the monster in my gut growled. The guys laughed. I wasn't offended. Instead, I decided to test out my delegation skills. "Tank," I instructed. "You get the door. Bobby, plates are in the cupboard over the dishwasher. Lester, work your magic on the DVD player. I'll grab drinks and we'll all meet in the living room."

**_I believe there are only a few chapters left. One more cycle through my POV Pattern and we're all done._**

**_Don't forget to let me know what Between the Plans scenes you'd like to see._**


	43. Chapter 43

_So, my POV pattern dictated that Tank be protagonist of this chapter, but my muse was no forthcoming with the subject of his chapter for while. So, while I was playing with my new soldering iron I got for my birthday (which is for my ribbon work btw) my mind was on Tank and what he would think of Diana training Steph. The result was the flashback scene in this chapter. I managed to not burn myself when I had the eureka moment._

**Chapter 43**

Tank's POV

Watching Steph's return to RCM Security was painful. Not because the gap in the company where she used to be had shrunk or changed shape or anything like that – if anything it was Steph who had changed shape – but because she was spending so much time alone in a room with Diana. God only knew what kind of damage Diana was doing to her. She was a completely unforgiving teacher. I'd know, I was the brunt of her 'corrections' for about a year while we were getting Rangeman off the ground. I could only hope that she was treating Steph more like she did Ranger than me.

It was no secret that she had double standards. Whereas my mistakes were dealt with by a stern hand, even occasionally ending with a sparring session at the local gym, since we didn't have our own private set up at that point, Ranger would receive an exasperated sigh and a redemonstration. It was infuriating and I could only assume it was because of our past relationship. More specifically, the fact that _I _had dumped _her._ Usually she was the one doing the dumping. She made that clear when she destroyed my apartment. And she reinforced the idea when she was showing Ranger and me the ins and outs of the business world and how to cope with the business venture we'd just blindly jumped into.

There was one point in particular that stuck in my mind.

_I'd made a rooky error when processing a sheet of data Diana had set me on and ended up accidentally deleting _all_ of the progress I'd made in the previous three hours. When Diana came to check and found out I'd only made it half way down the first page, I'd explained what happened and she'd gone ballistic. She yelled – screamed – directly in my ear, all the while dragging me up out of my chair and shoving me over the desk. I landed with a loud thud on the other side and suddenly found myself in a No Holds Barred wrestling match in the middle of my office, fighting for my life. At one point, I swear I blacked out for a few seconds._

_After that, she'd threatened to do a better job of knocking me out if I didn't get it done by that afternoon and stormed out._

_I could deal with her violence. For a while after leaving the army, I'd thrived even thrived on it. Being with Diana was a coping method in and of itself. She reminded me I was alive, that I had to keep fighting to stay alive even when things seemed dim. Her preferred style of intercourse sated the carnal beast that lived inside my chest that demanded violence. And she liked to order me around just like I was used to. But after a while I realised that the relationship, such as it was, wasn't going anywhere. It was just violence in the thinly veiled disguise of intimacy. Two strong forces clashing again and again. It was no way to live._

_Two years later came the unfortunate occurrence of needing her assistance in starting up Rangeman. Which led to the equally unfortunate incident involving the deleted data and my ass whooping._

_The next day, though, while sharing a beer at the end of the day, Ranger told me about how he'd accidentally deleted all the data he'd just meticulously entered. I'd hissed through my teeth in sympathy, recalling my own error vividly._

_"What'd she do?" I asked, leaning my elbows on my knees as I leaned forward in my chair._

_Ranger gave me a peculiar look as he took a pull from his beer. "She sighed exasperatedly and showed me how to retrieve the stuff I'd deleted," he said, raising an eyebrow._

_"WHAT?" I cried. "Dude, when I did that she practically bent me over the desk for a spanking." I'd shared many things with Ranger in the past, he was my best friend, after all, but I wasn't going to tell him that I'd pretty much had my ass handed to me because my fat fingers hit a wrong button._

_A smirk spread across his face. "Well you _used _to respond well to it," he pointed out, sitting back on the couch, his eyes sparkling. He was clearly quite proud of his comeback._

_I groaned. There was no escaping reminders of my past relationship with Diana, not even with Ranger. "Don't remind me," I said, hanging my head to avoid looking at his smug face._

_Apparently, though, he wasn't done with the topic. "Remind you of what?" he asked. "That you used to revel in her bending you over the desk? That you thought it was sexy as hell? That you thought her strength was endearing? That she was the greatest woman alive?"_

_"I never said that," I bit out._

_This only caused him to chuckle. "You didn't have to," he said. "I could read it all over your face." Arrogant bastard. _

_A growl rose in my throat as I glared at him and his chuckle turned into real laughter. "Are you imagining her bending you over the desk again?" he teased._

_He didn't get any more remarks out before I'd leaped across the coffee table and tackled him to the ground. I might have been beaten by a girl yesterday (and many times previously) but that night I asserted my dominance over Ranger in the small living room of his apartment just outside of town._

That had been very early days for Rangeman and Diana didn't get any easier to work with. It became clear, as time went on, that the grudge I knew she held from her dumping had not subsided and she was using that anger against me at every opportunity. Once again, I was her personal punching bag, only this time I didn't have the added benefit of the happy ending.

As I stared at the pile of paperwork on my desk, wondering what Diana and Steph were up to right now and whether Diana was treating her better or worse than she had Ranger. I would think, given her kind offer to train Steph, and the fact that neither of them had emerged from Ranger's old office screaming, that things were going okay, but I still worried. Their first meeting hadn't gone very well at all, what with the tackling and the strangling. Curiosity had led me to review the security footage of my office from their second meeting, and surprisingly, it had all appeared pleasant. No one could guarantee that prolonged exposure would wear that pleasantness down, though.

On both sides of the fence.

While I'm sure Diana's tolerance would be tested by having to train Stephanie Plum, the same could be said for Steph of Diana. She'd made no attempt to hide her opinion of Diana, and that opinion was quite low. She'd even gone so far as to call her a bitch, a term she tended to reserve for people who really were bitches (See: Joyce Barnhardt). It would be interesting to see how long they'd last before they were at each other's throats.

**_Thanks everyone for sticking with it long enough to get to this point. _**


	44. Chapter 44

_It took me a while to write this chapter, especially since it was interrupted by "Kigurumi Time!" (Which you should all go check out if you haven't already), but it's here now._

**Chapter 44**

Steph's POV

After just two weeks of trying to explain the intricate inner workings of RCM Security, Diana seemed to be at her wit's end with me. It wasn't that I wasn't trying. I was trying _really hard_. Diana just had a low tolerance for, well, people. She could only instruct me for an hour or so at a time before she needed a breather, any longer than that and she would get distracted, which was the one thing we had in common, the difference being that when I got distracted my mind wandered, when Diana got distracted she started cleaning her gun, or spinning a knife on her finger or something equally as terrifying. So we'd go over some protocol, then break for a while so that a) I could digest what I'd just learned and b) she could got yell at someone or shoot something. Then we'd get back to it. This was our patter for ten working days straight – I still had my weekends off.

On the eleventh day she walked into my office – which used to be Ranger's, and let me tell you, it felt weird to be sitting on _his_ side of the desk – stared at me for a full two minutes, then turned on her heel and walked back out. I sat there a while, figuring she'd just had a trying morning and needed time to cool down, and looked over some base level reports Tank had provided to help get me up to speed.

It was half an hour before she returned, looking utterly exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, her usually perfect pony tail hanging lopsided. And a few paces behind her was Halfred, his gaze locked on the screen of his iPad. I hadn't seen much of him in the three weeks since his accident, what with how busy I suddenly was and the constant presence of Diana. His head was healing nicely, and with no lingering side effects. Overall, despite the anger red line that still marked his forehead, he was the picture of health. Until he turned and I caught sight of a row of scratches on his neck. They appeared to be fairly recent. And painful.

"What happened to your neck?" I asked.

Halfred's head jerked up at the sound of my voice, his hand snapping to cover the marks as his gaze flitted from me to Diana. A blush rose on his cheeks. "I, uh, don't want to talk about it," he muttered. That was enough to tell me in no uncertain terms that Diana had given him the marks.

Diana sank into a chair, pulling out her phone. "Halfred has a few things he needs to go over with you," she mentioned, staring directly at the screen as the light tinkling music of a game rang out.

Halfred smiled at me, his blush having disappeared. "Diana's having a bad day," he explained, like I couldn't have already guess that from the way she'd been acting. While I was busy rolling my eyes, he approached the desk and laid his iPad on the desk between us. "Anyway," he continued, tapping through a few things. "I've been working on this idea for a while." I nodded for him to start explaining and was sorely sorry I did as he started talking a mile a minute gesturing to various diagrams on the screen.

While he blathered on, my eyes kinda glazed over and I averted my gaze to Diana to see if she could help. She was totally engrossed in her game.

"Uh," I uttered, trying to get his attention. "Could you, maybe, start again and go slowly?"

Who knew the shy guy who excelled in crawling into tight spaces could talk faster than a teenage girl at the mall? Not me.

He blushed again, swiping back to the start of his presentation. "Sorry," he said, taking a deep breath. "I mouth tends to run when I'm excited."

I smiled, trying to ease his awkwardness. "It's okay, I know the feeling," I assured him. "What are you excited about?"

"Technology," Diana's bored voice interjected.

Freddie sighed contentedly, and dragged a chair closer to the desk to sit down. "Okay," he said quietly. "Proposal Take Two: And Action." He grinned. "I couldn't help overhearing Tank telling Hank and Hector about your concerns for security system installations and covering all the bases. The guys down at Dianaman have been complaining about the same problem. So I've developed a prototype of a program that could be used for optimal positioning of the cameras and allow the clients to view a mock-up of the set up on the same day as the initial walk through." He showed me through a few screenshots he'd saved of what the application would look like, and I nodded politely as he continued. "It's ninety percent idiot proof," he explained.

"Even Santos could use it," Diana drawled disinterestedly. "Probably."

"Right," Freddie agreed. "So al you do is enter some basic dimensions of the house and the level of security the client is after and it sets up a map of where cameras would be located."

"So the guys would need to take the time to measure stuff?" I questioned, knowing that such a task would slow thing down immensely. The walk through was to ascertain the needs of the client and obvious risks that would need to be accounted for. If they were stopping to measure everything, they might end up missing some of those important details.

"Ah," Freddie ahhed. "See that's the thing. In most cases, walkthroughs are done by a single person who assesses the building and makes notes on what would need to be addressed. The best they can give on site at that first meeting – you know - is a guesstimate of what the security would be like. BUT. If we have a mandatory two person walk through, one person would be tasked with the measuring, using this handy dandy laser measuring tool I created myself for this exact purpose." He swiped on the iPad and brought up an image of a small box like device with lasers coming out like a ball, set on a table in the middle of a kitchen. "All you need to do is attach these sensors-" another swipe revealing what looked to be shiny cross of sticky tape stretched from one side to the other on a window frame "- to the doors and windows so the lasers can register there's an opening there. At the moment the display on the side shows the measurements that will then need to be entered into the app, but I'm working on getting it to transmit directly to the app. It's been a bit of a trial getting the code just right, though. Just when I think I've got everything in the right spot –"

"Halfred," Diana said, lowering her phone to gaze over at him. "Tech talk," she added, like it was a reminder. A well-used reminder.

Halfred's eyes widened, cut to Diana then back to me. "Sorry," he apologised. "I got carried away."

"It's fine," I assured him. "I admire your enthusiasm. What is it you require of me?"

He sat back in the chair, clicking off his iPad and resting it in his lap. I noticed his hands gripped it tightly and he couldn't quite meet my eye. "Well, we've tried the system once or twice in Miami and the clients seemed to respond well. So with your permission, I'd like to get all branches on board with it. They've already got the iPads, it's just a matter of training them to use the equipment. With your permission, I'd like to return to Miami and start implementing the system fully. Once I have them on the right path, I'll return here to get Trenton up to speed and finally move on to Boston so that we're all on the same page."

"And it has to be you?" I asked, thinking it could take a while if it was just him training all the guys that do installs.

"If you want it done right, it'll be Halfred," Diana drawled.

"Right," I agreed. "Well, if it's going to appeal to the clients more and make the process easier, I say go for it."

"How long should it take to have it up and rolling in all branches?" Diana interrupted before Halfred could start his happy dance. Her tone was stern and I got the impression she was showing me questions I should have asked myself before saying yes. I'll have to remember that for next time.

Halfred glanced over at Diana, then back to me, a calculating look on his face. "I think six weeks should have everyone up to speed," he said. "Give or take a week."

I glanced to Diana, wondering if that was an acceptable time frame, or if I should get him to commit to something quicker. She was still engrossed in her phone, but shrugged when she felt my eyes on her. Sitting back in my chair, I watched Halfred for a moment before stating, "You're a smart guy, see to it that you get it done in no more than four weeks."

Halfred's eyebrows shot up. "This isn't a question of how smart _I_ am," he said, sounding offended. "It's a question of how quickly the men take on the training."

"I'm sure you'll find a way," I assured him coolly.

"But-" he tried, but Diana cut him off.

"You heard her," she snapped. "Go pack and get back to Miami."

He nodded once and was gone. Diana remained for several silent minutes, tapping and swiping at her phone. When she'd finished her game, she tucked the phone away and stared at me for a while. In retrospect, I suppose she was trying out the words she was about to say, wondering if they were worth it, because she certainly wouldn't have used them on one of the guys. I mean, it's not like they _needed_ compliments, right? Wouldn't want it to go to their heads. But she decided to say them anyway. "You did good," she said. "Just make sure you consider everything before making decisions."

I nodded, and she too was gone, I assumed to 'help' Halfred 'pack'. If you know what I mean. She wasn't seen on the floor for a good two hours. Nor was Halfred. And then, he was on his way to the airport to return home.

*o*

The next five days were increasingly tense. The amount of time she was able to spend in the office with me in one go dwindled down to ten minutes. We have ten minutes during which she would show me a process, then point me in the direction of getting a whole set of it done, and then she was gone, like the wind, for hours. On day four of this pattern, she'd left me alone and I'd decided to see where she ended up.

I wandered out to the command floor, a place I'd been avoiding as much as possible since my return to RCM Security. It was densely packed with men watching my every move, wondering if I was alright, if I was preparing to leave again. I wasn't, and I didn't know how to prove that to them all other than persevering and working as hard as I could to catch up. Maybe if I showed how committed I was to taking on the role Ranger had left for me, they would start to accept it. Until then, I had a lot of work to do and that kept me off the command floor. When I did emerge, though, I could always count on one of two people to be by my side in seconds. I'd asked a few times if they were ordered to shadow me or if they just liked being around me and every single time they'd given vague, deflecting answers.

"Hey," I greeted as he sidled up beside me.

"Ms Plum," he returned, crossing his arms casually.

I rolled my eyes. "Jim," I sighed, "We've been over this. Call me Steph or you can keep your lips sealed."

He smirked. "We both know I'm no more capable of keep my mouth shut than you are," he reminded me. Which was true. He had the gift of the gab. He could talk underwater. But he was quiet compared to his brother. Get them both together and I was lucky to get a word in edgewise. "So, what's up? Just taking a break? Or are we on Diana-sanctioned vision quest?"

"She's been absent more often than present," I informed him. "Leaving me alone to work through things I barely understand. I was just wondering where she disappears to."

"Ahhh," Jim said sounding hesitant. "Why would you willingly search out the demon?"

"Because I don't know what I'm doing and she's supposed to be helping me wade through all this stuff," I explained. "I just wanna know what's more important than training me."

In reply, Jim tapped one of the men on monitor duty before us on the shoulder. "D-17," he stated. And with a few taps on the keyboard from the monitor man, I was staring at the gym where Diana was going up against three guys on the mats. And winning.

"What did they do to deserve that?" I asked, leaning in to try determine who it was having their asses handed to them.

"That's the thing," Jim explained. "They didn't do anything. As far as I can tell they had the misfortune of being in the elevator when she stepped on. She dragged the three of them into gym without a word and started defeating them. It's like she took offense to the fact they looked at her."

Before I could comment, I sensed a dark shadow looming over us. "She's losing control," Tank stated flatly. "I've known her for your years and I've never seen her this bad. She's dragging men off the floor for clicking their pens too loud. Bobby has his hands full keeping them all patched up enough for the company to continue."

"What could have set her off?" I asked, craning my head back to see his face over my shoulder. If anyone knew Diana's triggers it was Tank. He'd been her toy boy and lived to tell the tale.

"My guess would be Halfred," he replied with a shrug, leaning in to hit a few keys and change the camera angle. "She's been on a downward spiral since you sent him back to Miami."

Stunned, I turned to face him more fully, crossing my arms over my chest. "Don't try to pin this on me," I warned him. "Halfred came to me with a solution to the install problem I mentioned and I gave him the go ahead to get it done."

"Diana hasn't travelled without Halfred in eighteen months," Tank explained. "The separation is sending her over the edge. I suggest you send her back to Miami for a while."

"But I still need training," I pointed out.

He gave me one of _those _looks. The kind where he as implying I was dense without using the words. "How much help is she really at this point, Steph?" he asked, and I had to admit, he had a point. "Send her back to Miami to get a hold of herself again. I'll take over your training for a while."

I nodded, but didn't move. How the hell was I going to convince Diana to go back to Miami? Just the thought of giving her an order had me feeling the urge to duck under a desk to get away from her wrath. I wonder if this was how Freddie felt all the time. No wonder he spent so much time in dark recesses.

"I was actually thinking I should be more familiar with the other branches," I suggested.

Tank turned his head to stare at me. "Are you suggesting you want to go _with_ Diana? You want to spend almost three hours in a plane with the woman without a Halfred buffer to save you?"

"Maybe I should start in Boston?"

He sent me a rare smile. "You handle Diana, I'll set something up with Hugh."

"Hugh being…." I said, leaving the sentence open ended for him to finish.

"The Boston manager," Tank filled easily enough.

Jim grinned. "That's why Boston is nicknamed Hughman," he said, reminding me of the ridiculous short hand Lester had invented. "Hughman Human Resource. Hughman Control Room. It's great."

Tank shook his head, but I could see the small smile he was trying to hide. "It's giving him a stomach ulcer."

*o*

As it turns out, convincing Diana to return to Miami was easier than I thought it would be. I'd barely gotten the words out, careful to word it as a suggestion and emphasising the fact that I wanted to see how I fared without her there to hold my hand, and she was on her feet heading for the door. By that afternoon she was already back home, probably torturing Halfred sexually, and I was on my way to the airport to go visit RCM Security Boston, my faithful shadows in tow. Tank thought it was a good idea for me to be familiar with all three branches, so I was going to spend two weeks at Boston, getting to know the men there and learning what I could from Hugh and his crew. And later I'd spend some time at Miami, but we both agreed it would be best if we allowed Diana a chance to return to her normal state before I tried to follow her around her domain.

Tank also insisted that I take someone from Trenton to babysit me (my words not his) and act a buffer if I got overwhelmed. He'd suggested Hal reprise his role as designated Steph-sitter. We'd spent a lot of time together before Ranger's death. He'd been the Merry Man of Choice to tail me. I'd put him through a lot over the years, probably caused him a lot of strife. It made sense to pair us together now if you considered our history, but I'd noticed the way he'd been avoiding me, glancing away quickly when I passed through the control room. If I was going to travel with someone it had to be a someone who wasn't completely awkward around me. I was having enough trouble fitting back into the ill-shaped hole I'd left. I'd insisted on choosing my shadow.

Which is how I ended up on a tour of the Boston office with Jericho – the guy who'd met us at the airport – Jim and Tim trailing behind.

"This is the tech lab," Jericho mentioned, pausing outside a door. We were on the second floor, which was standard for the tech lab, as far as I was aware.

I took a moment to inspect the door, wondering why we'd simply stopped outside it when every other room of significance he'd lead me inside. My answer came when I read the plaque beside the door. Where I'd expected to see the words "Technoloy Laboratory" or something similar, I found two words that left me more confused than when I was first introduced to algebra. "It says, _The Hattery,_" I pointed out.

"Yes it does," Jericho confirmed, hands in his pockets.

"I assume there's a story behind that."

He smiled tightly. "Yes there is."

I glanced at Jim and Tim, wondering if they knew the story. Their faces were as blank as they could manage, which wasn't very blank at all by RCM Security standards. No way of knowing without asking. "Are you going to tell me?" I asked.

In reply, Jericho pushed open the door, holding it wide for me to see inside. There were various hat shaped items around the space, including a Porkpie hat on the head of the sole occupant of the lab. I stared for a bit longer than was probably appropriate before Jericho let the door close again. "That's Harry. He's the main tech guy. He likes hats."

"Harry the Hat Guy," I nodded. "Got it."

Jericho let his tight smile turn into a true grin. "Exactly what he's known as. Except when he get angry or starts sprouting crazy talk we call him the Mad Hatter."

"Right."

Tank had said that Hugh ran a tight ship. That he followed the rules and regulations more strictly than the other branches. I'd expected a regimented group of soldiers standing at attention and never doing anything out of line. Then I'm presented with this. I guess the men didn't much care about Hugh's rules. I couldn't blame them. From the brief glimpse I'd seen of Hugh as he hurried down the hall to his office, a bottle of pepto in one hand, I got the impression that he lead with a nervous twitch. Hard to command respect when you were busy worrying about the repercussions of every small move you make. The men I'd seen were just like Trenton. They laughed and joked and shot the shit. But when it came down to it, I was sure they were capable of pushing everything else aside and focusing on the task at hand.

It was the one thing all Merry Men seemed to have in common.

My first night in Boston, they dragged me out to a local pizza place that I guessed was their equivalent of Shorty's and insisted I tell them my firsthand account of all the events they'd heard about from the Trenton guys. Hugh, who had graced us with his presence, kept telling me I didn't have to tell them anything, that they were overstepping the boundaries and that he'd have them dealt with in the morning, but for some reason, being with this unfamiliar group of men made things okay. They weren't hesitant to ask questions of me. They weren't tiptoeing around my feelings like the Trenton guys had a tendency to do these days. So I found myself wanting to explain every compromising situation to them, to set the record straight one and for all.

Before long we'd moved away from my many car wrecks - and other kinds of wrecks as well – and I was telling them about how Ranger and I came to be a thing. It was the most I'd spoken about the man to people who knew him since he died and there was something freeing about it. I got to relieve the best and worst moments of our relationship. The Boston men were a rapt audience. No one dared interrupt.

It wasn't until I was explaining how Ranger had asked me to marry him that I realised that avoiding the subject for so long hadn't benefitted me at all. My therapist was right. I was never going to come to terms with his death if I avoided the topic like the plague for the rest of my life. The only way to move forward with my life was to accept the events of the past. I couldn't change them. I realised that now. And as I glanced around the table of unfamiliar men, all of which had been touched by Ranger in some way, I resolved that I would use these two weeks as a practice run for stepping back into my old life with Trenton Merry Men.

I'd put them through enough. I was back working with them, but I hadn't spent a single moment with them outside of the office. And even inside the office, I tended to keep to myself. It was time to let them back in properly.

**_Thank you all for being patient. _**


	45. Chapter 45

_I just finished reading Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell an hour and a half ago (you all should definitely go read it if you haven't already. It's fantastic), and one of my first thoughts (immediately after the futile question of "What am I gonna read next?") was of the opening lines of this chapter. So naturally, I wrote it._

**Chapter 45**

Cal's POV

The tension that filled the command floor was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Everyone was anxious for Steph to return. She'd been in Boston for exactly two weeks today and what little updates we'd managed to get from either herself or the Twins were useless. She'd say she was fine. Keeping busy. Learning a lot. They'd say she was great. Charming everyone. They'd say she seemed relaxed, more like the Steph we'd told them stories about than the Steph they'd witnessed so far. I'd taken it as a good sign, that she was getting her old spark back. According to Tim she'd challenged Hugh on a couple of his decisions and even teased a few of the guys.

I checked the time. Her flight was meant to get her back to Trenton by five o'clock. It was just after two now. Still such a long wait before we found out if this new old Steph routine that had been reported was the real deal or just something she'd put on for the sake of the Boston Crew. She'd always been good at getting people to like her, making sure they were on her side. And the Boston Crew needed to know she was on theirs. But she'd been so reserved ever since returning to RCM Security that I found her supposed switch hard to believe.

My head was full of hopes and doubts intermingling and confusing me further as I wandered through the cubicles toward the stairwell. I couldn't concentrate on the paperwork I was supposed to be doing, so I'd decided to head down to the gym for a work out. I just pushed the door open when Benny, who was stuck on monitors for the day, called out merrily, "Steph's home!"

"Wait what?" I sputtered, dropping my hand as I turned to face where he sat, the door clicking softly closed behind me. "She's not supposed to be back til later. Bobby's supposed to be picking her up from the airport at five."

Benny shook his head and shrugged, gesturing to the screen in front of him. "I dunno, man," he said. "This _really_ looks like _Steph_ getting in the elevators. And the two guys with her are absolutely identical. Jim and Tim, for sure."

Something in my abdomen twitched. Hope. Anticipation. I wanted Benny to be right. I wanted his sarcasm to be because he _was_ staring at Steph and the twins on the screen, not because he wanted to pull one over on me. Clenching my fists, I took the three steps that took me to his side and was bending over to inspect the security footage when the elevator doors pinged open and the unmistakable sound of Steph's laughter tinkled through the air.

I lifted just my eyes, catching sight of her in an instant. Her face was bright, her blue eyes practically glowing, cheeks flushed and lips grinning. She was happy. She was relaxed. She was acting like her old self again. Tim was right.

The grin never left her as she stepped out of the box and into the room. She was dressed casually in faded jeans and a loose fitting tee with a sloth on the front. The slogan under the animal said, _Let's Hang Out._ The doors closed with the Twins still inside and she took another step away, reaching up to adjust the cap on her head. It was one of those old style hats with the floppy bit and the small brim. The kind you always saw when you went to an amateur production of Oliver. I'd never seen her in a hat other than Ranger's SEALs cap and an ill-fitting beanie.

She caught sight of me and grinned harder. "Hey," she greeted.

"Hey," I returned, finally straightening as she came closer. "How was your trip?"

"It was good," she said, tugging the brim of the cap again. "But I'm glad to be home."

"Cool," I replied. "Nothing like sleeping in your own bed, right?"

"Right," she agreed. She glanced over her shoulder and then mine, like she was looking for something or someone, and for the first time in a year it didn't feel like she was just trying to get away from me. "Tank in?" she asked.

"Client meeting," Benny supplied before I had a chance to formulate an answer. "Just started a few minutes ago."

Steph nodded, glanced around again then pulled at the edge of hat. She was extra fidgety today.

"Nice hat," I told her, trying to ease some of the tension I could see building in her shoulders, darkening her expression.

Her grin bloomed once more. "Thanks," she said. "Harry gave it to me." Harry was obsessed with hats. He always wore one. Always. One time, Xavier told me that Harry blew into the building without a hat on and locked himself in his lab until he'd created an elaborate top hat out of newspaper. He was addicted. And highly possessive. It was probably a security blanket thing. He should probably seek counselling. I couldn't imagine him ever parting with one of his precious hats.

"He must really like you," I told her.

She nodded. "I haven't met a Merry Man who doesn't. It's great for my self-esteem, but really unnerving at the same time." Another quick glance down the hall, probably noting the closed door just shy of the far end, and then her eyes were back on me. "I'm gonna head upstairs and take a shower," she said. "Can you call me when Tank gets out of his meeting?" I just nodded, and she threw one arm around my shoulders in a quick hug. "Thanks, Cal," she called over her shoulder as she headed for the stairwell.

_**Just a quickie. I'll try get more out soon.**_


	46. Chapter 46

_Apparently the urge to write and the urge to sleep have been one and the same lately, because every time I open my laptop to work on something I conk out. As a result, the chapter took longer than intended. Sorry about that._

**Chapter 46**

Steph's POV

The apartment was easier to enter than it was a few weeks ago when I came back for the first time in months. Probably, it helped that I knew what to expect this time; I was ready for the Ranger vibe to hit me when I opened the door. Plus, I was exhausted. I think that's part of the reason I decided to come straight to Haywood instead of getting the cab to take me home. I was tired from my trip, and having to meet so many new people, and get to know them. Most of all I was tired because Hugh was an exhausting man. He was the make a list, check it twice and then worry that you missed a vital step both times, kind of guy. Where Tank and Diana managed business with an iron fist, Hugh's fist was clutched around a bottle of anti-acids. I couldn't work in an environment like that. It worked for the Boston crew, but I doubt my guys would have given him an ounce of respect. The odd thing is, I knew that Ranger was the one who appointed Hugh to the position.

I guess what I'm trying to say here, is that I wanted to commune with Ranger in the place I knew him best. I wanted to seek his guidance, ask if I was doing the right thing. I'd been at this for almost a month and I was still having doubts. My original intention was to ask Tank his thoughts on my progress, but he was in a client meeting. It wasn't until I'd been informed of this that I realised that what I really wanted was Ranger. And for once the idea that he wasn't around didn't tear open my chest and rip my heart out.

Dropping my bag in the entrance way as usual, I headed straight for the bedroom and the bathroom beyond so I could shower off the day. Whereas last time I'd been here I'd paused in the doorway and overthought the entire situation, this time I walked straight past all the mental walls I'd built around the sacred place. I strode into the bedroom, grabbed clean clothes from the wardrobe and locked myself in the bathroom before I had a chance to think about the fact that I was in the bedroom. The place where I'd shared the most intimate parts of myself with the man I loved and could never hold again.

I showered. Taking my time to lather my body with the Bulgari shower gel that was always present in the bathroom. It had been a long time since I'd smelled like Ranger. I'd dreaded the scent for a while now, fearing that smelling like Ranger would bring back everything I'd been avoiding, all the memories of our time together. The reality of the situation, though, was a full body relaxation I hadn't felt in months. I'd been using yoga to quiet my mind and relax my muscles, but it was nothing compared to the way all my worries and cares slid away now, gurgling down the drain with the soap suds.

Wrapped in my robe, with a towel turbaning my head, I emerged from the steam filled bathroom in a sleepy, tranquil haze, making a beeline for the bed where I laid out in my thinking position. I stared up the ceiling, thinking over my decision, and knew I should get up and send an email or a text to the guys. Organise something. But I was suddenly so tired that even as the thought flitted through my head, I my eyes were drifting closed, sleep taking over.

I was dreaming. Of that I was almost a hundred percent certain. But most of me was willing to suspend the reality I knew in favour of indulging this dream. This fantasy my mind had conjoured.

_The room was dark, lit only by the dim bulb of the lamp beside the bed. I lay on the bed in a robe and a towel, just like before I'd fallen asleep, but as I became aware of my surroundings I noticed a presence in the room. A tall, dark, handsome presence. _

_Ranger._

_I struggled to sit up, the towel weighing down my head, as he removed his SEALs cap and utility belt and dropping them on the end table beside the door. Crossing to the bed, he sat down on its edge and pulled off his boots, setting them aside as I'd seen him do every day. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back in place and twisted his torso to gaze down at me._

_"Babe," he murmured, his eyes reflecting the light of the lamp. _

_"Carlos," I replied, breathless as I scooted closer. He wrapped one arm around my back and pulled me into his lap so that I was straddling him. Facing him. Staring straight into those dark chocolate pools. "I've missed you."_

_"I miss you too," he said, tugging the towel from my head and tossing it aside at the same moment he wrapped one of the damp tendrils around his hand. "I'm glad you decided to come back." I didn't know what to say. In the back of my mind was the persistent thought that this was just a dream, that this vision of Ranger, however real it felt, was just a projection of my own thoughts and ideas, a part of my subconscious. He pulled my face closer to his and pressed his lips to my hairline. "The men need you."_

_"I know."_

_"They need you to lead them," he insisted. "To show them the right path. If you're not there to shed light, the darkness inside each of them will turn them. They'll become they men they've always feared becoming."_

_"No they won't," I shook my head, leaning into the palm of his hand where it caressed my cheek. "They got along without me before, I'm sure they could do it without me again."_

_He nodded agreement, but there was an expression in his eyes that gave me pause. "They did manage without you," he said. "But they're better with you. I was always better with you. The men opened their hearts to you in a way they never had before with anyone else. They allowed you in, gave you a special part of them. They shared their lives with you willingly. Are you really going to throw that away?"_

_I shook my head, circling my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his temple. "Of course not," I told him firmly. "I'm going to take them to dinner. I'm going to talk to them about life and you and everything. I already made that decision."_

_His face split in his 200 watt grin. "Proud of you, Babe," he murmured just before our lips connected. Any conversation we might have continued then was forgotten as he slowly pulled apart the two sides of my robe and slid his hands inside. _

_My own hands were delving between us in an attempt to loosen his belt and undo his black cargo pants when a ringing interrupted my thoughts. _

_"Ignore it," I whispered, tugging at the zipper._

_But it kept going and after a moment, Ranger extracted his hands from my robe and placed them on either side of my face. "It's Tank, Babe," he said, pressing one last kiss to my lips before fading away. _

The ringing grew louder and I found myself stirring on the bed. My towel turban had fallen away, my hair spread across the duvet in a halo around my head. The robe I'd cinched around my waist before lying down had come undone and separated, leaving me practically naked on the bed. I grabbed both sides in one hand, holding them closed as I scooted off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom where my phone was still resting inside my jeans pocket.

"Tank?" I answered, not even looking at the display before I held the phone to my ear.

"Everything okay?" he asked in a mildly concerned tone. "We weren't expecting you back until… right about now, actually. You came back early."

I glanced at the bedside clock as I exited the bathroom once more and noted that it was, indeed, five o'clock. I'd been asleep longer than I'd thought. "I finished up early and the twins and I managed to get an earlier flight," I explained. "I wanted to come home."

"Right," he said, a sound of agreement, though there was no approval in his tone. "Next time you should call and let us know. Bobby was expecting to pick you up at the airport."

"Sorry," I sighed. "I just really wanted to get back."

"Is everything alright?" he enquired. "Cal said you needed to speak to me."

I smiled. I probably should have explained myself a little more to Cal, but I was exhausted and wasn't thinking straight. In retrospect, I probably could have even gotten Cal to do what I needed done. Again, I hadn't been thinking straight. "I wanna get all the guys together for dinner," I explained. "Tonight if possible. Could you send out a message?"

Tank was silent for a moment. "I can have everyone assembled in no time at all," he confirmed softly. "But I'm not sure I want to if you're going to give us bad news," he added. "I don't think we can handle another rejection from you."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "I'm not rejecting you," I assured him. "Just the opposite. I want to start letting you all back in. Properly this time."

I thought I heard a relieved sigh on Tank's end, but it was quickly replaced by a muffled shout. He must have pressed the phone to his chest. I could I only just make out his words as I flopped back onto the bed. "Dinner at Shorty's," he called out. "Mandatory order from Steph herself. Spread the word." Tank came back on the line, calm as anything, and replied, "We'll be there," but it sounded like utter chaos in the background as men shouted and yelled and laughed.

**_Yay! Happy Dance!_**


	47. Chapter 47

_Everything feels so important now. There's only three chapters left! I hate endings almost as much as I hate the middle of the story when I realise how much I have to do in order to get to the ending. Can you believe this story has been on the go for almost two years? You probably can, because it's been to years ignoring other stories... and interrupting this one with little shorties. _

**Chapter 47**

Bobby's POV

Shorty's was crowded. Everywhere I looked men were milling around. When Tank had called out that Steph wanted as many of us as possible to join her for dinner, I'd expected the usual ten or so to turn up. Never in my life had I thought we would fill Shorty's to capacity like we did tonight. I'd gotten here early to make sure Shorty knew we'd be using our booth tonight. Apparently I now had to amend that to taking over the restaurant. As men kept arriving the other patrons began disappearing.

The most ridiculous part? Nearly everyone who had turned out tonight was in a onesie. The same onesies Steph had gotten everyone for Christmas a few years back. They all looked like utter idiots. I wish I'd thought of it.

"Insane turn out, right?" Lester said, slipping into the booth beside me. He was wearing his Nyan Cat onesie, but had decided to leave the detachable rainbow cape at home for the evening. Smart choice.

"Are you referring to the number of people or the fact that the majority are wearing their onesies?" I asked.

Lester sent me a look like I was an idiot. Something he did often, even though everyone knew he was the dumb one. "The number of people, bro," he said, exasperated. "We gather in our onesies all the time."

I shook my head. "We gather in our onesies _inside the building_ all the time. This is a public place. And we arrived in company vehicles. This could do serious damage to our reputation."

"So could Hal's capture rate, but we still let him go out,"

"Hey!" a voice said right beside us. Apparently we'd been distracted, because I don't think either of us noticed Steph's approach. "Why do you always have to pick on Hal?"

A grin spread across Lester's face the likes of which I hadn't seen in months. This was the first real sign of Steph's sass that we'd seen since she returned to work with us. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed, rising from the booth and enveloping her in one of his trademark hugs. "We only pick on him because he knows we don't mean it. If we meant it we'd be saying _really_ nasty things about him. Behind his back. When we say it to his face he knows it's a joke."

Steph returned his hug but then stepped back, hands on hips as she surveyed the surrounding area. I followed her gaze, pretty sure I knew what she was going to say next. "Funny," she said, "I don't see Hal's face anywhere." _Yep, I was correct_.

"We'll tell him our insults later," Lester said easily, dragging her into the booth beside him. "For now, tell us about your trip? How was Boston? What do you think of Hughman?"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she glanced over for myself and then Lester. A frown crossed her features then and she did another sweep of the crowd, her gaze skipping from man to man, her features stretching out in surprise. "Uh, what are you guys wearing?" she asked.

I chuckled, Lester joining me. Only Steph could walk through a crowded restaurant and only notice when she reached the other side that at least sixty percent of the room's occupants were wearing onesies. "_I'm_ wearing my uniform," I stated the obvious. "This fool, is in his Kigurumi."

"I can see that," she nodded. "Why?"

"Cos you gave it to me and I love it?" His statement was more of a question, like he was suddenly worried he'd come on too strong. That she would pull away again and we'd never be able to get her back. Life had been precarious on the Steph front, he didn't want to mess up what we had. _No one _wanted to mess up what we had. We liked seeing her every day, even if it was only in passing.

"I don't even know where mine is," she murmured, dropping her gaze for a moment. "I'll have to check the wardrobe on seven. I don't think I took it with me."

It took everything in me not to raise an eyebrow in surprise at that comment. Cal had mentioned that she went up to seven for a shower, but I kind of just assumed that her stance on the apartment was the same as it had been when Julie came to stay. She wasn't comfortable there and was doubly uncomfortable with the bedroom. She'd stayed in the penthouse the entire weekend and from all accounts, hadn't crossed that threshold. Tank had mentioned that Steph had good news for us all. Apparently she'd turned a corner in her recovery.

She let out a laugh that was ninety percent sigh and reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "Don't look so surprised, Bobby," she said. "I realised while I was in Boston that I wasn't doing myself any favours by avoiding certain things, like the apartment, the bedroom, and talking about Ranger. The guys up there were asking questions about my past and how Ranger and I got together and all sorts of things. I'd been dreading it, because every time I thought about Ranger I had this ache in my chest. Like longing. Loneliness. Sorrow. All rolled into one. But when I started talking it all just kind of, I don't know. Eased, I guess."

"That's big, Steph," I assured her.

"Yeah," she agreed. "And I realised that if it's okay to talk about Ranger to strangers, then I should be able to talk about him with people I know. People that were his friends and are still mine. I realised I was being ridiculous by keeping my distance. I realised-"

"Woah, woah, woah." The twins were suddenly beside the booth, dressed in hideous, matching, Hawaiian shirts. At least it wasn't the fluro, animal print lycra pants. "That sounds like a lot of realisations for a two week trip. Why weren't we privy to any of this?" I still couldn't tell them apart, so I could only guess which one was speaking.

Steph rolled her eyes and scooted over in the booth, making Lester press himself into the wall to make room for them to sit down. "I was testing a theory in Boston," she explained. "The results are before you now." She gestured to the room and the men. The twins followed her hand, taking in the view, even though they'd probably already created a constantly updating internal surveillance feed of the restaurant in their heads.

"A bunch of grown men in baby costumes?" the twin on the outside of the booth questioned, frowning.

"Where did you all get them?" the twin directly next to Steph added, peering around them to address Lester.

Lester's teeth glowed in the low lighting as his face practically split from ear to ear with a laugh. "These are the sacred Kigurumis bestowed upon us by none other than the Patron Saint of Car Bombings herself, Stephanie Michelle Plum."

The twins' eyes snapped to Steph then. "You gave them all onesies?" Outside Twin asked.

"Why didn't we get one?" Inside Twin demanded.

A laugh burst out of Steph's throat. It was a fresh sound. Genuine mirth. Free. She really had turned over a new leaf. "They were a Christmas gift years ago," she explained to the two men. "You weren't working here yet."

*o*

Steph ordered the first round of drinks. For everyone. Which would have cost a pretty penny. And the party was in full swing. Drinking. Eating. Laughter. Steph circulated the room being sure to engage everyone. There was constantly a drink in her hand. I had a feeling everyone wanted to be the one to buy her a drink. I also had a feeling that she hadn't consumed much alcohol in the last year, and that as a result her tolerance – which had never been that great to begin with – was significantly lower. I hovered nearby for most of the night, being sure to swap out her empty glass for a glass of water before someone had the chance to replace it with another intoxicating beverage.

The other men seemed to notice my agenda after a while and switched to mock tails, but by that point, the damage was already done.

She was drunk.

She danced with everyone she passed, and at one stage, climbed up on the bar to make an announcement. It wasn't a very articulate speech, but the message was clear. She loved us. She was sorry for treating us like dirt for the last year. And she promised not to do it again.

Eventually, everyone started to trickle out, heading back to Haywood, or their private residences to sleep off their fun. The morning shifters were first to go, aware that they needed to be alert and ready for anything at the first sign of light, and slowly everyone else followed suit until it was just Steph, Lester, Tank, the Twins and myself left, sitting in the RCM booth at the back of the restaurant. Steph had both a coffee and a bottle of water in front of her and was sipping alternately from each. I could tell she was sobering up. I could also tell she was tired; her head rested on Twin A's shoulder.

I wasn't sure how I felt about the obviously close relationship she'd formed with the younger men, but she was happy, and that's all that mattered to me. Things would never go back to how they were before Ranger died, but anyone could see that this was a step in the right direction. The trust that had been missing for months was beginning to flood back in. Everything was going to be alright.

_**Thanks for reading. I'll try to have more up soon, I'll be working during the time that I usually write, so it could be a few days. Thanks for being so patient and understanding.**_


	48. Chapter 48

**So, I lied. It didn't take a few days to get the next chapter out (obviously). Apparently I forgot that yesterday was only Saturday and I had all of Sunday in which to write a chapter. Which I did. And JUST as I was getting toward the end, my mother calls me away from the laptop to trim my neices' fringes. Such is the life of a writer, right? Anyway. Here you go.**

**Chapter 48**

Steph's POV

I took the day off. No one objected. Not only had I been working hard for the last six weeks, but today was the first anniversary of Ranger's death. I had mixed feelings about the Tuesday. On the one hand, I thought I should keep working like normal. If I didn't acknowledge the significance of the day it would have no power over me, right? But on the other hand, I knew that if I went to work everyone would know what day it was and they'd put their kid gloves back on. I didn't want that. I didn't want to take a step backwards in the progress we'd all made together.

Tank hadn't mentioned anything about it when I stopped by his office yesterday, but it had to have been on his mind. He was the kind of man that was always on top of everything. A detail like the day his best friend died would not slip his notice. But he didn't ask me about it. He just said goodnight like he always did.

This morning, when my alarm went off for the second time, I laid in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide what would be best for both me and guys. I felt fine now, but I didn't want to go to work only to become an emotional wreck later on. With that thought in mind, I picked up my phone from the bedside table and typed in a quick message to Tank.

_Not coming in today._

His reply came a moment later.

_Take care. Call if you need anything._

I wondered briefly what Tank would think of my absence in the office. Perhaps he'll assume that I'm struggling with the connotations of the day. Maybe I should make an effort to drop by later today to assure them all I'm fine. I didn't need them worrying about me. The day was probably just as trying for them as it was for me, but they couldn't all take the day off on a whim.

With that thought in mind, I threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. I showered and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt before heading downstairs to the kitchen. I started coffee brewing and put bread in the toaster, then started pulling out ingredients for chocolate cupcakes. I'd experimented a bit more with the combination of ingredients since the day Bobby startled me into losing the majority of the batch in the seventh floor apartment. I was pretty sure I'd solved the dry factor, and so long as no one burst in on me while I was swapping trays they should be much better. I'd make some frosting later, though, just in case.

I got the cupcakes in the oven, ate my breakfast and went upstairs to braid my hair while they baked. A little over an hour later, the cupcakes were done, cooled and packed away and I was dressed in one of Ranger's old shirts and a clean pair of jeans – the one's I'd put on earlier had ended up covered in chocolate – and was grabbing my handbag from the hall table when my phone rang.

"Hi, mom," I greeted, shouldering my bag and making my way back through the kitchen to the garage. "I was just on my way out the door."

"I'm making roast chicken for lunch," she informed me, not bothering to beat around the bush. "Will you come?"

It wasn't often that mom invited me to lunch these days. I'd made sure to maintain my fortnightly dinners at my parents, even with how busy I was, and that seemed to satisfy her maternal urges. She knew I was back at RCM Security, preparing to take over full responsibility of it one day soon. She knew I made time for her in my schedule. She also knew that a Tuesday lunch was usually off the books. Perhaps she'd sensed a disturbance in the force.

"Sure," I agreed. "I'll be there at eleven."

"Perfect," she said. "See you then."

*o*

I spent the morning at Ranger's grave, telling him everything that had happened and how everyone was dealing now. I shared my secret thoughts with him like I always had and admitted that I felt stupid talking to a hunk of rock when I knew that he was with me every second of the day, but it also helped me feel a closer connection. I told him about the dream I'd had a few weeks ago, just after returning from Boston, when I'd fallen asleep in our bed in the apartment. I told him I'd slept there a few more times since but hadn't experienced the same phenomenon. I assured him that I was actually glad it hadn't, because if it had, I might have made a habit of sleeping there just to have some kind of fake contact with him.

After I ran out of things to tell him, I just laid out on the blanket I'd spread out parallel to his plot and watched the clouds float past. By the time I had to leave to get to my parent's house for lunch, I felt refreshed. Like I'd siphoned off some of Ranger's lingering cosmic energy to use as my own for a while. I'd found, lately, that by not avoiding all things Ranger related, I had more energy to begin with, like the universe was trying to tell me that living in denial like I had been for the last year wasn't good for me.

I'd taken to running with Hal of a morning, even though I no longer had regular sleepless nights caused by nightmares. It felt good to be able to keep up with one of the Merry Men, even if it was the slowest of the lot. And whereas in the past I would use the exercise as a method of exhausting myself so I could sleep without dreams, I now found myself full of beans at the end, even though I was drenched in sweat.

I arrived at my parent's house at eleven o'clock on the dot, just like I'd promised, and endured a very mild Plum Family meal. Valerie was there as well, and without the kids it almost felt like we were kids again. We sat in our old spots at the table. The ones we'd always occupied before the girls came along and everyone was re-shuffled to fit and avoid arguments. Mom asked us about work, and life and we discussed things amicably without the complaints and antics from the girls or Grandma Mazur, who was apparently on a hot date. Dad was mostly silent, but his head wasn't bowed to shovel in food like it usually was, so that was a good sign.

When lunch – and a surprise Pineapple Uspide Down cake for dessert – was finished, Val and I helped with the dishes.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Val asked, handing me a dish she'd just dried to put away in the cupboard.

"I'm going over to visit Carol and Bailey for a while," I said. "And then I'm going over to Haywood. I made some cupcakes this morning that I want to deliver to them."

"That was nice of you," Mom mentioned, clearly relieved to hear that she'd finally managed to get two decent daughters out of her years of effort. "Do you often take them treats?"

I laughed. "No," I said firmly. "They have Ella for that. She's much better at it than I am. I just want to make sure they know I'm okay, since I took the day off and all."

"Why _did_ you take the day off?" Val questioned, handing me another plate.

"The anniversary of Ranger's death," I explained with a shrug. "I didn't know how to act at work, knowing that everyone would know that a year ago my heart was ripped from my chest, so I decided to take a personal day."

"I'm sure it would have been fine," Mom said, pulling the plug on the water and wiping her hands on her apron.

I shrugged again, but nodded my agreement. "I realised that about ten minutes after I'd told Tank I wasn't coming in," I said. "That's why I'm taking cupcakes. I don't want them to think I stayed home all day crying. I'm past that point. "

"I'm proud of you," Mom said, pulling me into a rare hug. "You've come a long way."

"Thanks," I replied, sniffing away the moisture that threatened to turn into tears. After I'd just said I wasn't getting all emotional today. "It means a lot to hear you say that." And it was the truth. She'd been very accepting of my decisions, especially when I told her I was going back to work at RCM Security. I think it helped that I assured her I would be in a management role, rather than running around the streets getting garbage spilled on me every other day. I wondered briefly if we ever would have managed to get to this stage in our relationship if Ranger hadn't died, but quickly pushed the thought out of my head. There was no use wondering over things that I could never prove or disprove.

Checking my watch as I stacked the last plate in the cupboard, I said my goodbyes and was on my way to Joe's house.

He greeted me at the door with Bailey on his hip, cheerios clinging to his grey t-shirt, and big, puppy dog grin on his face. "Cupcake!" he exclaimed, pushing open the screen door to let me in. "Carol's just in the shower. There was an unfortunate incident involving a nappy that wasn't quite fastened properly and some less than solid baby shit."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Your fault, I assume."

His grin turned sheepish at that. "All parties involved seem to think so," he agreed.

"Were you called home to deal with the consequences, or did you just not go to work today?" I asked.

"Option B," he said, handing me the child who was – thankfully – clean. "It's my day off. And yours too, apparently."

"I needed a personal day," I said tickling the dark haired girl in my arms.

"Noted," Joe said solemnly, nodding as he picked off the cereal. "How are you handling things?"

"Fine," I assured him. "I just wasn't sure, you know?"

"Understandable," he said. "Hey, Bay-Bay, wanna show Auntie Steph your knew blocks?" Bailey squealed with excitement and tried to wriggle out of my arms, so I set her down on the floor and followed after her as she crawled into the living room.

"I'll take that as a yes," I mentioned, joining her on the rug with a pile of brightly coloured connector blocks. She handed me two after thrusting them together, like she was showing me what to do with them. I helped her build a tower and knock it down, and we were building another one when Carol entered, her wet hair drawn up in a messy bun. She was pleased to see me, even though I could sense the worry just beneath the surface. She hugged me briefly, a question in her eyes that I answered with a bright smile. I didn't even have to force it. Then we were all on the floor, chatting and playing.

A while later we were still on the rug, Bailey having grown bored of our attention and fallen asleep with a toy car still clutched in her hand, when my phone started ringing in my pocket. I dug it out quickly and answered without checking caller ID, just wanting to stop the noise so I didn't wake the baby.

"Hello?"

"Why aren't you at work?" Diana's voice asked.

"Personal day," I replied, climbing to me feet and quietly excusing myself. "Three hundred and sixty-five days since my fiancé left this earthly plain."

"Right," she said more softly. "Sorry, I forgot." That was something I'd learned about Diana in the last month. She didn't go out of her way to be mean, or calloused, or abusive most of the time. It just happened. It was second nature. I guessed it had something to do with being in the military, but Tank was inclined to think it was just the demon possessing her body. Either way, when she said something insensitive, I'd learned to reply with a sarcastic comment to let her know how well I appreciated it. She didn't always apologise. Only when it really mattered. Like now.

"What's up?" I asked, rather than force her into a discussion about feelings. As much as I hated it, Diana was even worse than me. She'd rather stab a guy than tell him she liked him. It was something I was trying to work with her on. Call it a pet project. Between what I'd seen of her behaviour with and without Halfred, and what I'd heard from Tank, Bobby and Lester, I could tell she did really care for him. She just had a very unique, and often terrifying way of showing it. I was trying to help her learn to be a little softer with him without completely pretending to be someone else. We'd had a few lengthy phone calls that had nothing to do with work, and with the distance we kept, I could almost believe we could be friends.

I'd also kept in contact with Halfred who, after hearing about Diana's behaviour when he returned to Miami without her, had suggested, rather than coming up himself, sending a couple of the Dianamen up to Trenton along with the second tech guy from Miami to train the Tankman crew in the new tech he'd created.

"Just got a call from the lawyers," Diana informed me brusquely.

All the air left my lungs. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what she had to say. She'd been riding their asses, getting them to investigate every loop hole in the law they could to try amend the company name issue. It had been weeks since she'd even mentioned it and I'd taken on the stance that _no news is god news._ If she was going to talk about it now, then clearly this was bad news. "What did they say?" I wheezed, walking through the kitchen to the backdoor and slumping down onto the back steps.

"They said RCM Security is a stupid name and we can have the old one back."

"WHAT?" I cried. Was she joking? Was she being serious? It was hard to tell. Surely she was pulling my leg. Suddenly, I was on my feet again, angry that she would do such a thing to me today of all days.

"They found that loop hole we've been looking for," she explained slowly, like I was child who didn't quite have a grasp on the English language. "We can change the name back."

"You're shitting me," I stated, still not believing what she was saying.

"I shit you not," she assured me. "As soon as you call the lawyers and sign some paperwork, we can start the process of changing the company back to Rangeman, like it should have been the entire time."

"We can have Rangeman back?" I asked, unable to stop the hope from trickling into my chest.

"We can have Rangeman back," she confirmed.

A squeal left my lips before I had a chance to pull the phone away from my ear, and I could have sworn I heard Diana complaining about my girlie traits. I ignored her comments, though, too wrapped up in my own little happy dance. When I'd calmed down – a bit, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face – I thanked Diana for everything she'd done and went back inside to let Joe and Carol know, and also to say goodbye. Now that I had such good news to share – Diana had assured me that she wanted me to be first to know and wouldn't say another word until I made an announcement – I wanted to get over to _Rangeman_ (RANGEMAN!) and tell all the guys as soon as possible.

I called Ella on my way home to ask her to dig the old Rangeman uniforms out of storage and have them ready for when I turned up. I ducked home, whipped up a batch of icing to slather on the cakes I'd made that morning and painstakingly wrote _RANGEMAN LLC _on each cupcake in a black gel icing I'd picked up at the store the previous week. I must have known something. The writing was a little shaky, but still readable. I grinned down at my work as I loaded them into a container, snapped a photo on my phone to remember the moment and then made my way over to Haywood.

Ella met me in the elevator with a storage crate full of shirts so we'd arrive on five together. By the time the elevator doors opened Tank was there waiting for us.

"Hey," I greeted, beaming up at him.

"Hey," he replied, a hint of suspicion in his tone as he took in my container of cakes and Ella's box of shirts. "I thought you weren't coming in today."

"I thought so too," I agreed. "But then I changed my mind."

"Why?"

I smiled at him a moment, ducking around him to set my container on the nearest table. "You'll see," I said. Gestured for Ella to hand me a shirt as I retrieved one of the cupcakes from the container, handing both to him at the same time. Tank gave me a peculiar look, not even glancing at the gift. He raised an eyebrow at me, so I sighed and lifted his hands – full of cake and shirts – up closer to his face. "Look," I instructed, still smiling expectantly.

He read the cupcake and noted the old uniform shirt before his eyes snapped up to meet mine. "What's this?" he asked slowly.

"What do you think it is?"

"Rangeman cupcakes and uniform shirts," he replied. "But why?"

"Hey!" Lester's voice broke into our conversation before I could explain. "Tank has a cupcake. I want a cupcake. Did you make them? Last time you made them I didn't even get to taste them. Where's my cupcake!?"

My grin widened as Ella wordlessly handed me a shirt. I added a cupcake and handed them both over to Lester.

"Rangeman LLC," he read carefully, before swiping at the frosting and sticking his finger in his mouth. "Mmm, the old company name never tasted so good." He took a generous bite of the cake and unfurled the shirt to examine it. "What's with the old stuff? Feeling nostalgic all of a sudden?"

"I've heard that everything old can be made new again," I explained with a shrug.

"Have you now?" Tank asked, also biting his cupcake. "Does that mean we're going to start upcycling?"

"It means that as soon as I can meet with the lawyers and sign some stuff, we can be Rangeman again instead of this RCM Security business," I said proudly.

"I'll call the lawyers and get them over straight away," Tank announced, whipping out his phone, he was already dialling before he'd finished his sentence.

"And I'll start handing shirts out," Lester added, reefing his RCM shirt over his head and chucking it at the nearest waste paper basket, before pulling the Rangeman one on. "You should probably follow with the cupcakes. It's best to hand these things out individually so that there's no stampede in the break room. I knew I had a good feeling about today. Cupcakes and a better company name. Can it get any better?"

I thought that it could, if Ranger were still alive, but knew that that kind of statement would only be like raining on his parade, so I kept it to myself and trailed behind him, handing out cupcakes and good news. It's amazing what something as simple as a name change can do to boost morale. Once the cakes were gone, I met the lawyers in the conference room with Tank to go over and sign the paperwork, then immediately composed a short email to send out to all employees informing them of the change. I had a feeling that everything would be changed back to the way it was by the morning.

_**BTW, in regards to the onesies in the last chapter and my onesie story, the gunshot wound Tank sustained in chapter two of "Kigurumi Time" is the one that lead to the infection and amputation of his arm. **_


	49. Chapter 49

_It's amazing what massive amounts of frustration and anger will do for one's muse. I got into a screaming match with my sister last night, and while the rest of the evening was lost to any kind of productivity, when I opened the laptop this morning, the words just started flowing._

**Chapter 49**

Lester's POV

Almost eight months after Steph started working as our trainee CEO and Trenton Manager, she called Tank, Bobby and I into her office. She'd really settled into it. There were still all the major touches of Ranger at every turn, but I think she'd embraced it.

At some point she'd realised that avoiding everything Ranger was impossible. Especially if she was going to be working in the company – correction, running the company – that he built from the bottom up. Things had gone a lot smoother once she came to that conclusion. She'd started hanging out with us more. We now had fortnightly dinners at her house, which we fit around her fortnightly dinners with the Morelli's and weekly dinners with her parents. She had lunch with Mary Lou, Lula and Connie once a month, hung out in the break room with the guys every day, and every now and then I'd drag her along to Manoso family dinner just for good measure.

She was a regular social butterfly compared to a year ago when she'd lived a life of solitude. It was like she had been punishing herself for Ranger's death, which is ridiculous. She knew that now, thank god, but it was so hard to watch in the moment.

The three of us filed into her office that fateful Thursday afternoon, blank faces securely in place to mask any worry we might have over the fact that she'd called us in rather than coming to find us as she usually do. It was like being called to the principal's office. There was a fear gripping my chest that I'd never experienced when Ranger had dominated this room. The thought was constantly in the back of my mind that she could decide that she wasn't cut out for this job, this industry, this building, and she would be out the door in a moment's noticed. Out of our lives again.

I don't think we'd survive if that happened.

"Take a seat, guys," she instructed, standing behind her desk to gesture to the three visitor's chairs assembled on the other side. She was dressed in a black form fitting skirt that probably stopped about the knees and dark grey and black pinstriped blouse with the Rangeman Logo on it. It was her chosen uniform, and while I missed seeing her in the black cargos and t-shirts, it was a damn sight better than those awful floral dresses she took to in her year of misery. They reminded me of my mother. And Stephanie Plum was anything but my mother. She still wore them on occasions, but they were always teamed with a black Rangeman cardigan and pair of killer heels. None of those colourful flats.

Slowly, we lowered ourselves into the chairs, holding ourselves very still so as not to startle her. Steph let out a little sigh that was ninety percent laugh and shook her head, collapsing into her own chair and leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. "Relax," she said. "You're not in trouble."

"Are you sure?" Tank asked, fiddling with the buttons and levers on his prosthetic so hat his fingers flipped open and closed revealing the various items stored inside. "Cos it feels a little like we were caught smoking in the boys toilets."

She eyed us suspiciously for a moment. "_Have_ you been smoking in the toilets?" she asked.

"No," Bobby confirmed.

"Good." She nodded. "Because that stuff will kill you."

That caused a bark of laughter to bubble up from each of us. She'd been doing this more often lately, making comments that sounded like she'd literally plucked them from Ranger's mouth. It was refreshing. Like her own personal jokes. I loved it.

"So why are we here, then?" I asked when our guffaws had dwindled down to the occasional chuckle.

Taking a deep breath, she tucked a curl that had fallen out of her braid behind her ear and looked us each in the eye. "I think I'm ready," she announced quietly. Nobody said anything. "I haven't had a panic attack in over a month. I'm nailing pretty much everything, and what I'm not nailing I'm delegating. The men all respect me and my decisions."

"Like there was any doubt that they would," I said with an eye roll.

"I think I'm ready," she repeated.

"I think you've been ready for a couple of months," Tank inserted. "Diana was ready to throw you in the deep end about a week after you started. She's been pestering me to step back and force you into it for ages. I'm glad you've finally made your decision so I can get her off my back."

I sniggered at that. "I thought you liked her on your back," I pointed out, alluding to his past relationship with the manic woman. "Aren't you jealous that she's pouring all her attention on Halfred now?"

Steph shook her head firmly. "Can we focus, please?" she said. "I'm trying to make life changing announcements here and you all are just teasing each other about past girlfriends."

"I'd just like to point out," Bobby said quietly, raising his hand like we were in class. "That it was really only Lester teasing Tank about his past girlfriend."

"_I'd_ just like to point out that no one has ever really classed Diana as their girlfriend," Tank added, fiddling with the switch I knew revealed the knife from his hand.

Not to be left out, Lester piped up, "And _I'd_ just like to point out that this decision is in no way life changing."

"I'll be officially in charge of the company," Steph explained, like we didn't get what her decision meant. "The men will have to follow my orders."

"They already do," Tank interjected.

"What if I make a bad decision and someone gets hurt? Or worse?"

I could tell that this was heading toward a panic attack, so I stood and crossed my arms. "Calm down, Beautiful," I instructed. "The men would follow you into a volcano if you told them to, even knowing that there was a high possibility that they would die. Besides which, you're not in control of their every action. You're not a puppet master. You're just the CEO. Remember what we said about delegating? If you don't wanna handle the missions side of things you can put someone else in charge of it. Anyway you wanna swing it, it can happen."

She took a gulp of air, nodding slowly. "You're right. I can do this." A short silence followed while she stared at the desk, probably convincing herself of that fact. "We should send out an email to all employees informing them that as of Monday I will be officially taking over the reins."

"I'll draft something up," Tank confirmed. "And I'll also prepare something to send out to our clients. I'll have you proof them both before I send them out."

"Good," she agrred. "Great.

"Awesome," I added.

"Phenomenal," Bobby threw in.

We all looked to Tank. "What?" he said. "I don't know why you've all turned into thesauruses all of a sudden, but don't try to include me."

We laughed again, and Steph mentioned that she had to get back to work, so the three of us filed out of her office and straight into Tank's. "So this is it, huh?" I said, flopping down on one end of the couch. "You're finally handing over all control of the company to Steph."

"It appears that way," Tank nodded, settling behind his desk and pulling is special keyboard toward him so he could start typing. "But she's been handling everything on her own for a few weeks now. I've just been playing solitaire and referring every issue on to her."

"You dog!" I exclaimed, delightedly. I knew he wouldn't have just agreed to letting her officially take over responsibility without testing her out first.

"Does this mean you'll be out in the field again?" Bobby asked. He'd collapsed into the armchair near the couch I was on and was using a bit of scrap paper he'd found to make a paper football, like back in junior high. Honestly, I was surprised he remembered how to do it. As soon as he was done, I leaned forward to set my hands up as a goal, ready for him to kick with a flick of his fingers.

"I dunno," Tank sighed. "I mean, I could, I guess. With Halfred's prosthetic I'd be more than capable. But it's been two years. I've barely done any field work since losing my arm-"

"Which was your own stupid fault," Bobby reminded him. "You know better than to ignore an infection."

"I don't know if I can anymore."

I scoffed, moving my hand goal so that Bobby scored. "You realise you just said you could and couldn't in practically the same breath?"

"It's not a simple decision," he pointed out. "I have a handicap now."

I flicked the football back at Bobby, copping him right between the eyes, but didn't have time to revel in the score before a thought occurred to me. "Dudes!" I said, jumping off the couch. "Dudes. I just realised. If Steph's taking over, it's definitely time to start-"

Bobby groaned.

Tank slammed his robotic fist onto the table. "I swear to God, Santos," he seethed. "If you utter the word _Stephman_ even once, I will_ kill you_."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. The thought hadn't even occurred to me. "I was gonna say, start planning a party," I explained. "But Stephman _does_ have a certain ring to it."

*o*

"No," I said in my best imitation of an interior designer with less interest in ladies than in curtains. "No. No. No. No. This just will not do!" I pinched my forehead in exasperation and turned away with a flourish. "I can't work like this. It's atrocious. Did cannibals set this up?"

Julie stood in the middle of the large conference room, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me. She'd just spent two hours decorating with the help of a few of the men and clearly saw nothing wrong with it. Streamers were draped rather artfully from the pendant light in the centre of the room to evenly spaced points around the ceiling. Tank had put them up using his extend-o-arm. Balloons were tacked to the wall in groups of two and three to add to the festive feel. The massive mahogany table that usually dominated the room had been pulled apart and removed, stored down the hall in another conference room until the party was over, and replaced with a number of smaller tables Ella had been able to produce, though I don't know from where.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Julie pointed out, plucking a piece of streamer from her hair flicking it at me.

"Where's the ice sculpture?" I demanded. "The mood lighting? The _glitter?!"_

Tank shook his head, retracting his arm as he came to stand beside Julie. "It's just Steph, Santos. She'd be happy with a beer and a birthday cake."

This was probably true. But she'd been through so much in the last year and a half that I felt like we needed to do something special for her. Plus, I enjoyed putting on the dramatics. It irritated the shit out of Tank and amused Julie.

"At the very least, tell me you remembered to hire the quartet I suggested," I bemoaned, sinking dramatically into a chair.

Julie looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Quartet?" she questioned. "As in string quartet?"

"Steph hates classical music," Hal pointed out.

"She doesn't hate it," Julie corrected. "It reminds her of Dad. But it's not her first choice. We borrowed Binkie's boom box."

"You're killing my muse," I accused the teenager as she sat on top of me.

"Suck it up, Santos," Tank commanded, shaking his head. "Ella will be here any minute with the food, and Steph is due to arrive."

"Right now!" the woman in question called out from the doorway. "I heard you were throwing me a party so I came early to watch Lester put his gay on."

"Did he already use his quartet line?"

"Yes," Julie assured her. "And I've killed his muse."

"Damn," she said, but there was a smile lingering on her face. She looked around the room, taking in the decorations while I attempted to throw my niece off my lap – she'd was clinging to my pants to prevent such an occurrence. A sad glaze came over Steph's eyes as she turned to face us again and it took me a moment to understand how she could be upset by this show of affection. "Last time we set the room up like this," she murmured, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "Was the day Ranger died."

"Shit," Tank uttered. He was worse at dealing with waterworks than the average male.

"Nothing like that is going to happen today," I assured her.

"No one is leaving this party," Julie agreed. "Nothing is more important that celebrating your achievements today."

Steph nodded, sniffed, and wiped away the tear, attempting to smile brightly at us. "No one is allowed to die," she commanded, pointing at each of us with a stern finger. "Not today. Not ever."

"Yes ma'am," I mock saluted.

"AND DON'T CALL ME MA'AM!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

_**Next chapter will be the last. OMG. What a wild ride.**_


	50. Chapter 50- Epilogue

_First of all, I'm on a roll this week. Having just posted the Kigurumi Time! Epilogue, I opened up my Not as Planned file, knowing that I hadn't written the last chapter of it either, and found that I'd actually already written MOST of it and just needed to finish it. So, I apologize for the god awful delay, but here it finally is._

**Chapter 50 - Epilogue**

"Do we have to?" Lester asked, a whining tone to his voice. He was on the other end of the phone, but I could see the puppy dog eyes clear as day. Through the living room window. He was standing on the curb with Tank, Bobby, Jim and Tim.

"Yes," I assured him.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, brows furrowing. "Is it in our contract? Are we covered for this?"

I sighed, letting go of the edge of the curtain so it fell back into place, hiding the men from sight. "Lester, I love you like a brother, honestly I do," I informed him. "But you can be a pain in the ass. Could you, for once in your life, just do it without questioning me?"

"I can't help it," he explained. "I was taught at an early age to question everything."

Wandering back through the house toward the kitchen where Halfred, along with the help (or more accurately, hindrance) of Diana, was hard at work. "I would have thought, what with your military training, you'd have curbed that habit," I pointed out, rolling my eyes when Freddie sent me a questioning look.

"This isn't the military," Lester informed me as I hopped up onto a stool and took a sip from the wine glass I'd left there when my phone rang.

"Clearly," I agreed. "Or we wouldn't be having this conversation. Now get your asses in here or you're fired."

He sighed, and just before I hung up I heard him say to the guys that it was this or unemployment. Tank and Bobby groaned.

We were in Miami on business, and it happened to be Thanksgiving. That was pretty much every factor that contributed to our current situation. Originally, we'd just planned to hang with the guys at Dianaman for Thanksgiving dinner, but when Freddie heard of this, he insisted that we join him and Diana at Diana's house for a traditional Thanksgiving Family Dinner. I'd agreed without question. Diana and Halfred were both such an integral part my journey back to the guys a year ago that I felt like I owed them.

Plus they were great friends. Even when Diana was being domineering and Freddie was being a coward.

"Did you tell them that I supervised the entire cooking process?" Freddie asked as I tossed the phone into the basket in the middle of the bench. "There is absolutely no chance that it is poisoned."

I shook my head, rolling my eyes over to take in Diana perched on the counter sipping wine with a smug expression on her face. "I'm pretty sure it's not the food they're worried about," I assured him. "They've had to survive on sticks and berries found in the woods before."

Diana's grin grew slowly. "Is it because they can't stand being so close to me when there's a turkey baster in the room," she said, her gaze locked on Halfred pointedly. Freddie, I noticed, was diligently ignoring her, his back turned as he concentrated solely on the potato salad he was preparing. "Right Halfred?" she nudged.

Suddenly, I had the thought that something had happened with the turkey baster before I arrived a couple of hours ago. They'd been cooking unsupervised for hours by that point, but that didn't mean there wasn't an opportunity for Diana to do… _something_. I shuddered just thinking about thinking about what they could have done. And with a turkey baster. I stared at Freddie, noting how the back of his neck had turned beetroot red, probably matching his face.

"Freddie?" I questioned.

"Nothing happened," he assured me, but still didn't turn around. "Nothing like you're thinking."

I closed my eyes and lowered my head to the counter. I couldn't believe I was about to ask the question I had cued up. "I'm probably going to regret this, but what actually happened?"

"Well," Diana started.

"No, no, no," I interrupted, holding up a hand in her direction. "Not from you. I want Freddie to tell me."

Before he could answer, though, the doorbell rang announcing the arrival of the men. They had the worst timing imaginable. I was inclined to tell Freddie to ignore it and tell me what happened, but he was out of the kitchen and skittering down the hall to answer the door the instant it began to chime through the house. And then the kitchen was overrun by testosterone fuelled men. Lester led the pack, wrapping me in a hug and kissing the top of my head like he hadn't seen me in a month, even though we'd had breakfast together that morning. Tank and Bobby followed with their own affectionate hellos: a hair ruffle from the big guy, and a fist bump from Bobby. And then Jim and Tim were there, flanking me. Like book ends. It was their default position these days.

It didn't take long for us all to figure out that having the twins on body guard detail (even though I could take care of myself) worked the best. I rarely had both of them tailing me at once, but they always seemed to have all the information from the time the other was on the job. And since I was practically tied to the office these days, they'd become more like personal assistants than babysitters. But above all that, they'd become my friends.

Everyone at Rangeman was my friend in one capacity or another, but Jim and Tim were the ones I spent the most time with. They were the ones that saw when I was getting stressed and dragged me away before I could break down. They didn't always distract me from my stress themselves. Half the time they foisted me off on Tank, Bobby and/or Lester, but I had a feeling that was more to do with an agreement that had been made between the guys and less to do with them not wanting to deal with me at that point in time.

Plus, they'd become my yoga buddies.

I think their goal was to eventually get me flexible enough to partake in their crazy _I-grew-up-in-the-circus_ antics. BLT already had concerns about the way I interacted with Jim and Tim. They hadn't said anything directly to me, but Jim told me a couple months back that they'd given them the third degree, asking what their intentions were etc. The truth was that we were just having a bit of fun with the fact that no one else in the company could tell them apart. The boys had come up with a plan to confuse the guys even more than they usually were over the twins' identities.

Basically, they would decide in advance which one of them would be vaguely affectionate with me that day, and I would just roll with it. Sometimes it was the same twin every day for a week, which happened to be just long enough for the guys to peg which twin was which based on our interactions, then we'd switch it up and confuse the hell out of them. It was probably cruel, but it was also fun, something I needed a lot more these days. I was just waiting for Tank to crack and ask me what the hell was going on.

For now, though, we were to enjoy (or endure) a traditional Thanksgiving Dinner with Diana. It would be interesting to say the least.

"So what did we miss?" Tim asked, ever the spokesperson for the pair of them.

"_All_ of the prep work," Halfred assured them. "You literally came just in time for me to get the turkey out of the oven."

"And for you to tell me what happened with Diana and the turkey baster," I pointed out, determined not to let him off the hook. It was all well and good him telling me that nothing like I was thinking had happened, but I needed to hear the details to be sure. I wanted to know so I could decide if the turkey would be safe to eat.

The guys groaned.

Diana giggled. Evilly. "At least they didn't arrive _prematurely,_" she quipped, sliding off the counter to move closer to Freddie. When she laid a hand on his shoulder, he accidentally snapped the wooden spoon he'd been using in half.

"Nope," Tank uttered, and promptly exited the kitchen.

"I don't want to hear this," Bobby agreed, backing away to follow Tank.

"I'm of two minds about whatever the hell is going on," Lester explained to me. "On the one hand, we have a potentially embarrassing story about Freddie's inability to hold an erection… on the other it's possible something nasty happened with the turkey baster, and my mind is already going to unsanitary places; the kinds of things I don't need to think about when trying to eat the turkey that may or may not have been basted with the same baster. So I'm just gonna go join Tank and Bobby."

Diana was whispering in Freddie's ear now, ignoring our presence, so I turned to the twins. "You don't have to stay either," I told them. "Freddie's actually more likely to talk to me alone than with others around. I'll let you all know if the turkey is safe."

They nodded gratefully and hurried from the room, pushing each other out of the way to be first out. I glanced after them all, seeing that they were gather at the far end of the living room in a huddle, then turned to Diana and Halfred.

"Okay, you pair," I said, using my commanding, I'm-in-charge voice. "What's the deal with the turkey baster?"

"Well," Diana began. "Halfred was in here tending to the turkey like the master chef he is. Bent over the oven with his gorgeous butt in the air, squirt the basting liquid all over it."

I held up my hand, almost gagging. "You need to stop," I told her. "I can't listen to these words come out of your mouth and not think of them as innuendos. Halfred. What happened?"

"Like she said, I was bent over, basting the turkey and she snuck into the kitchen behind me and grabbed my… um… private area."

"His balls," Diana added, like I couldn't make the connection myself. "I snuck up and grabbed his balls and-"

"Stop," I instructed. "Go set the table or something. You're not helping here."

"This is _my_ house," she retorted, and appeared to be building up a full head of steam until Freddie laid a hand on her forearm.

"Please," he murmured. And to my shock, she grabbed the plates that had been stacked on the bench and stormed from the kitchen without a word. Freddie took a moment to get his nerves in check, then looked up at me again. "She-grabbed-me-from-behind-while-I-was-basting-the-turkey-and-I-accidentally-squeezed-the-baster-too-hard-and-it-squirted-all-over-the-floor," he said in a rush. "She's been making suggestive comments about it ever since, but I swear, nothing happened to the turkey. It's safe to eat. I would never- The guys are gonna be thinking- I just-"

I couldn't help the grin that had spread across my face. He was flustered. And Diana's constant teasing hadn't helped. "I'll go explain to the guys," I assured him. "You finish up in here. And then we'll have a typical family Thanksgiving Dinner. With embarrassment, and bickering and everything. It'll be great."

"You and I have different definitions of great," he muttered, as I turned to leave.

"I know," I agreed. "But it's normal. And normal is the best I can hope for these days."

**_Thank you all for being so patient and waiting while I got my act together to finish this story. It's been over two years in the making and I hope you all agree that the journey, while not particularly happy for the most part, was worth it. _**


End file.
